Pastoral  Romance 

-4V  x-f\      *^-^Z>  r-fY 


304- 


CHANTICLEER 


A  PASTORAL  ROMANCE 


By 


ILLUSTRATED      BY 

W.  GRANVILLE  SMITH 


LOTHROP  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT, 
i  go 2,  B  T 

L  O  r  H  R  O  P 
PUBLISHING 
C  O  M  P  A  N  T. 

ALL  RIGHTS 
R  E  S  E  R  V  E  D 

Published  July,  1902 


No r TO o  o  d    P r t j l 

B  triui  c  k  <5j°   Sm  it  A 
Norwood,    Mass. 


STACK 
ANNEX 


„ 
35/5 


TO  THE  JADED  IN  SPIRIT 


"  ^^T^®    ^e  a  philosopher  is  not   merely  to 
a      have  subtle  thoughts,  nor  even  to  found 
•*-       a  school,  but  so  to  love  wisdom  as  to 
live  according  to  its  dictates,  a  life  of  simplicity, 
independence,  magnanimity  and  truth.      It  is  to 
solve  some  of  the  problems  of  life,  not  only  theo 
retically,  but  practically." 

HENRT  DAVID   THOREAU. 


*8        ILL  USTRA  TIONS  m 

PAGE 

"Just  then  he  opened  the  door"     Frontispiece 

"  There  was  half  of  one  of  the  game 

platters" 17 

"  That  tangle  of  woodland  glory"      .     .  44 

"  Where  one  catches  fascinating  glimpses 

of  the  valley" 63 

"  It  was  one  of  the  most  romantic  spots  "  117 

" '  She  was   here  jnst  a   moment  ago,' 

Margaret  said" 240 

"  '  The  wonderful  atmospheric  effects  of 

autumn'  " 270 

"'  The  sparkles  dance  through  the  frosty 

air'" 291 


«33          CHANTICLEER 


THE  train  was  not  due  until  six  o'clock, 
but  I  was  so  impatient  for  Roger's  coming 
that  I  started  out  to  meet  him  at  two.  It 
was  one  of  those  transcendently  beautiful 
days  in  May  which  in  retrospect  seem  too 
lovely  to  have  touched  this  humdrum  ex 
istence. 

Jerry  brought  my  trap  to  the  door  at,  as 
I  have  said,  two  o'clock,  and  I  drove  off  with 
the  full  intention  of  rounding  Robin  Hood's 
barn.  This  included  calling  on  some  farmer 
neighbours  at  the  Forge,  six  miles  to  the 
south  of  our  country  place,  which  we  called 
Agawam.  Frosty  started  up  the  turnpike 
with  a  gait  that  dissimulated  respectable 

[9] 


S8  CHANTICLEER  %» 

speed,  and  I  gorged  myself  on  the  peaceful 
aspect  of  the  humble  farm  homes  we  passed. 
Rambling  old  houses  that  had  once  been, 
white,  but  which  time  and  weather  had  worn 
to  a  soft  grey,  stood  well  back  from  the 
road  at  the  end  of  long,  straight  paths,  bor 
dered  with  gay  tulips  and  sweet  hyacinths. 
The  little  dooryards  wrere  tangles  of  bridal- 
wreath  and  blossoming  almond  shrubs. 
Great  lilac  bushes  tossed  their  long  plumes  of 
purple  and  white  bloom  against  the  parlour 
windows  arrogantly  or  stood  as  screens  to 
protect  the  calm  content  of  some  especially 
unpretentious  spot.  Occasionally  a  sleek  cat 
came  out  on  a  sunny  porch  to  strike  a  note  of 
life.  The  poor,  mean  homes,  crowned  with 
the  extravagance  of  May  beauty,  moved  me 
painfully.  I  was  glad  to  turn  off  into  the 
narrow  roadway  that  winds  between  the 
larger  and  richer  fruit  farms. 

Nature  had  her  own  way  here  with  no  un 
gracious  comparisons.     For  long  miles  there 
[10] 


333  CHANTICLEER  m 

were  no  houses  in  sight,  only  rolling  meadows 
of  dazzlingly  green  verdure  and  fragrant 
acres  of  apple  blossoms,  level  stretches  when 
the  eye  could  see  on  either  hand  nothing  but 
these  garlanded  trees.  Their  heavily  laden 
boughs  met  over  my  head  as  I  drove  on. 
The  undulating  fields  sank  back  from  high 
knolls,  deeply  rosy,  into  delicate  hollows  of 
soft  waxen  glory  only  pink-flushed. 

The  aesthetic  intemperance  made  my  soul 
reel.  Whether  I  was  drunken  or  mad  it 
would  be  hard  to  say.  Oh,  to  be  a  poet,  my 
spirit  cried  —  as  if  a  poet  has  ever  touched 
mid-May  !  Oh,  to  be  a  painter  —  as  if  May 
day,  more  than  music,  could  penetrate  can 
vas  !  In  this  state  of  delirium  I  arrived  at 
the  old  Clinchbeck  farm. 

These  people  were  our  nearest  acquain 
tances,  though  they  were  six  miles  away. 
Here,  too,  the  house  was  sunning  itself  with 
the  windows  of  its  being  open  to  the  odours 
of  lilac  and  blossoms  and  new  grass. 
[11] 


&S  CHANTICLEER  »* 

I  found  the  women  of  the  family  busy  — 
very  busy.  It  was  "  house-cleaning  time  " 
they  told  me,  and  all  through  my  curtailed 
visit,  there  in  those  Elysian  fields,  I  could 
hear  the  sharp  click  of  hammers  and  the 
swish  swash  of  beating  carpets.  Mrs. 
Decker  and  one  of  her  daughters,  —  she  has 
four,  —  both  with  their  hair  freshly  brushed, 
came  into  the  musty  parlour  to  see  me  and 
to  offer  apologies  for  the  others  who  "  must 
be  excused."  My  spirit  rose  in  rebellion  at 
their  stolidity.  But,  after  I  had  bidden 
the  mother  farewell  on  the  porch,  Miss 
Amanda  came  down  to  the  roadside  to 
watch  my  going.  As  I  wras  untying  Frosty 
she  caught  my  arm  with  an  impulsive, 
hard-handed  grasp.  She  was  looking  off 
into  the  fragrant  orchards  with  tears  in  her 
eyes.  "  Ain't  it  nice  ?  "  she  said  dreamily. 
"  It  hurts,  though.  Sometimes  I  think  I 
can't  live  through  May.  It's  so  —  so  nice." 

In   my   bewildered    surprise   I   wondered 
[12] 


CHANTICLEER 


how  much  of  the  eternal  splendours  we  all 
of  us  tack  down  under  our  carpets.  When 
she  had  spoken  Amanda  Decker  shrank 
back,  as  if  afraid  of  a  touch  upon  that  bit 
of  her  soul  inadvertently  laid  bare.  I 
ached  to  say  something,  but  I  was  dazed 
and  altogether  inadequate.  After  I  hastily 
scrambled  into  my  trap  I  leaned  over  and 
whispered,  "  !N"ow  we  see  through  a  glass 
darkly,  but  then  face  to  face."  I  wonder 
what  made  me  !  Amanda  nodded  her  head 
gravely  and  went  back  to  her  house-cleaning. 
Frosty  dashed  off  into  the  floral  glory,  I 
throbbing  to  appreciate  it,  my  twin  soul  sor 
didly  washing  paint.  My  way  lay  around 
by  the  old  covered  bridge,  and  the  still  older 
stone  arches  that  span  the  creek  at  Lisle. 
I  had  made  a  circuit  of  twelve  miles  when 
I  drove  up  to  the  little  mountain  railway 
station.  Presently  the  narrow-gauge  train, 
pert  and  independent,  tooted  into  sight. 
Frosty  was  too  scornful  of  its  size  even  to 
[13] 


CHANTICLEER 


prick  up  his  ears.  In  a  minute  more  recog 
nition  disentangled  Roger  from  a  group  of 
restless  travellers.  I  waved  my  whip  at 
him,  and  he  rushed  toward  me  with  a  look 
of  earnestness  that  three  days  in  the  city 
had  stamped  about  his  country-loving  eyes. 
The  apple  blossoms  had  opened  while  he 
had  been  away,  and  as  we  drove  over  the 
high  road,  through  much  the  same  scenes 
as  I  had  passed  at  its  other  end,  I  told 
him  as  well  as  I  could  something  of  my 
drive  through  the  great  orchards  to  Clinch- 
beck.  I  felt  that  I  could  only  be  puerile 
and  inadequate  with  such  a  theme,  but  it 
did  not  matter,  for  my  husband  was  not  lis 
tening.  He  was  looking  —  looking  greedily 
with  misty  eyes. 

Presently  I  said  :  "  It  was  so  wonderful, 
Roger.  A  little  more  and  I  should  have 
been  a  poet.  As  it  was,  I  did  think  some 
thing  rather  fine  about  putting  down 
carpets." 

[14] 


CHANTICLEER 


Roger  made  no  answer.  It  was  clear  that 
lie  could  not  be  interested  in  the  thoughts 
appropriate  to  the  place  and  the  hour  that 
I  had  come  so  near  to  thinking,  when  he 
knew  he  was  actually  in  their  grasp  him 
self.  We  were  both  too  absorbed  in  the 
charm  of  outside  conditions  for  much  artic 
ulate  speech.  We  drove  along,  mile  after 
mile,  almost  dumbly.  Suddenly  I  startled 
Roger  by  saying,  "  Where  is  our  house  ?  " 

"  On  the  Old  King's  Road.  Why  do  you 
ask  ?  "  he  returned  indifferently. 

"  But  where,  Roger  ?  "  I  persisted. 
"  We  have  passed  the  sentinel  pine  and  the 
willow  copse.  There  is  the  second  pine. 
But  where  is  Agawam  ?  " 

Roger  looked  about  him  with  keener  in 
terest  :  "  That  must  be  the  first  pine.  It 
looks  like  the  sentinel  to  me." 

"  No,"  I  reiterated.  "  It  is  the  second. 
Where  is  our  house  ?  " 

Roger  was  still  peering  from  one  side  of 
[15] 


CHANTICLEER 


the   road    to    the   other.     "  There    is    Jerry 
watching  for  us,"  he  said. 

Our  man  came  out  from  a  clump  of 
cedars  by  the  roadside.  "  Jerry,"  I  called, 
"  where  is  our  house  ?  " 

"  Burnt  up,"  he  said. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  I  cried.  "  It  was  not 
burned  when  I  left  there  at  two  o'clock." 

"  No,  but  it  busted  out  right  afterward. 
When  I  took  the  coal  up  to  the  study  grate 
the  hull  chimbley  was  blazin'.  'Must  'a' 
been  what  they  call  a  detective  fluke." 

We  knew  that  when  one  has  a  flue  to 
blame  for  a  fire  it  is  like  heart  failure  as  a 
cause  of  death  ;  it  is  just  as  well  to  think 
more  than  is  said. 

"  When  you  discovered  it  was  it  too  far 
gone  for  the  garden  hose  ?  "  Roger  asked, 
as  something  seemed  to  be  expected  of  him. 
His  answer  was  a  contemptuous  sniff. 
Then  he  inquired,  "  Did  you  save  any 
thing  ?  " 

[16] 


(Os?$&^?&8fr&&^^^9?!&^ 

\  'oG^'t'Cit  '••G*  *«*C*  *••(,*  *»*C*  '»1C*  '«•  O*  *«*O*  '••Ok  '•*C.»*«*C.»*i*t.*  '•*O**«*C.»  't'C*  *t"C.*'»*C**«' 


"  "r/IKKE    If'AS   1/ALF  Ol-'   O.VF.    OF    TI1F.    CAME 
I'LA  TTKKS." 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Jerry.  "  Wait  till  you 
see." 

We  drove  hurriedly  up  the  little  distance 
to  where,  by  the  side  of  what  had  once  been 
our  home,  was  a  motley  pile  of  broken  bits 
presided  over  by  our  cook  and  the  house 
maids. 

While  Roger  gave  Frosty  into  Jerry's 
hands  I  ran  up  to  examine  the  first  large 
bundle.  It  was  full  of  fragments  of  china. 
Evidently  a  tablecloth  had  been  packed  with 
my  new  dinner  service  and  thrown  out 
oi  a  window.  There  was  half  of  one  of  the 
game  platters,  but  almost  everything  else 
was  powder.  "  We  saved  the  curtains," 
Jane  proclaimed,  pointing  to  a  torn  heap  at 
her  feet. 

"  You   pulled    them    down  ?  "    I   said. 

"  You  didn't  expect  us  to  get  out  a  step- 
ladder  an'  take  'em  down  careful,  with  the 
house  burnin'  over  our  heads,  I  s'pose,"  the 
cook  interposed  savagely. 
[17] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  took  Roger's  arm  and  walked  him 
toward  the  barn  whither  Jerry  had  already 
disappeared  with  Frosty.  "  We  have  not 
a  whole  thing  left  in  the  world,"  I  said, 
"  except  a  barn." 

"  Where  shall  we  stay  the  night  ? "  he 
asked.  "  I  should  not  like  to  lodge  in  any 
of  the  houses  about  here,  except  in  the  very 
places  where  they  would  not  take  pay." 

"  The  Deckers  are  cleaning  house,"  I 
hesitated.  "  And  they  are  six  miles  away. 
Roger,  we  must  occupy  the  carriage-house 
side  of  the  barn  to-night.  It  is  large  and 
airy.  We  can  have  plenty  of  hay  for  beds, 
and  there  are  the  lap  robes  for  blankets." 

"  We  can't  eat  hay,"  Roger  returned 
gloomily. 

"  But  we  can  make  tea  of  it,"  I  replied. 
"  The  very  best  calves  are  fed  with  hay  tea." 

My  husband's  answer  was  a  scornful  look. 
Presently  he  remarked,  "  We  might  go  and 
see  if  any  food  has  been  saved." 
[18] 


833  CHANTICLEER  && 

We  went  back  to  the  ruins.  The  maids 
had  gone  off  and  seated  themselves  by  the 
roadside  with  the  air  of  complete  repudia 
tion.  We  began  rather  listlessly  handling 
over  battered  tin  basins  and  disabled  iron 
mongery  until  Roger  suddenly  found  a  can 
ister  of  tea. 

"  Look  !  "  he  shouted  triumphantly. 

And  I,  at  that  very  instant,  picked  out 
of  a  broken  tureen  a  can  of  potted  quail 
and  a  box  of  sardines. 

"  I  think  that  is  the  lower  part  of  the  re 
frigerator  back  there  by  the  grape  trellis," 
my  •  usband  called  out.  "  There  ought  to 
be  something  in  that." 

We  ran  up  to  it  together.  It  was  the 
most  exciting  marketing  we  had  ever  done. 
The  knob  of  the  door  was  gone,  but  Roger 
pried  it  open  by  inserting  a  stick  in  the 
hole.  Sure  enough,  there  was  plenty  — 
not  appetising  plenty,  I  will  confess,  for  the 
refrigerator  had  evidently  had  rough  han- 
[10] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  85* 

dling  and  its  contents  were  much  shaken. 
But  there  were  some  cold  vegetables  that 
could  be  heated,  and  part  of  a  battered  pie 
which  Roger  declared  was  still  possible. 

"  If  we  could  only  find  the  bread-box  iii- 
tact  we  need  not  complain,"  I  said.  And, 
before  my  husband  had  time  to  answer,  he 
held  it  up  to  me  above  a  heap  of  chairbacks 
and  screen  frames. 

"  Is  it  filled  ?  "  I  called. 

"  One  whole  loaf,  one  half,  three  rolls, 
and  two  biscuits,"  he  chanted. 

"  Suppose  we  have  a  meal,"  I  said.  "  I 
am  starved,  and  you  certainly  must  be. 
There  is  plenty  of  wood  to  burn,  but  where 
shall  we  build  a  fire  ?  " 

"  Over  where  the  chimney  stood,"  Roger 
answered,  nodding  toward  that  mangled 
piece  of  masonry. 

We  sent  the  maids  to  the  carriage-house 
to  prepare  our  beds.  Then  we  made  ready 
the  meal.  I  think  we  were  both  conscious 
[20] 


:S3  CHANTICLEER  E& 

that  we  ought  to  be  depressed;  but,  rather, 
we  chatted  like  magpies  while,  with  their 
cunning  cupidity,  we  groped  through  our 
shattered  possessions  for  usable  remnants  of 
dishes.  Finally  we  found  among  the 
kitchen  crockery  two  parts  of  plates  and  as 
many  cups  that  would  hold  a  few  thimble- 
fuls  while  lying  on  their  sides.  There  were 
some  battered  tin  pans  for  cooking  purposes 
and  a  pail,  too,  for  the  tea.  Then  we  im 
provised  a  table  from  a  trunk  that  had  been 
carefully  saved,  although  it  was  the  only 
empty  one  'n  our  attic.  This  we  carried 
to  the  chimney-place  and  laid  our  meal  upon 
it  as  fast  as  it  was  ready.  We  drew 
up  to  the  fire,  which  was  more  cheerful 
than  one  might  have  expected,  made  up 
as  it  was  of  the  odds  and  ends  of  our  house 
hold  goods. 

After  we  had  partaken  heartily  of  potted 
quail,  bread   and  sardines,   tea  and  pie,  — 
Roger  ate  the  pie,  —  we  called  the  servants 
[21] 


CHANTICLEER 


for  their  share.  Meanwhile  we  strolled 
down  to  inspect  our  sleeping  arrangements. 
The  carriage-house  door,  which  could  Le 
swung  back  to  unwall  the  entire  end  of  the 
main  lower  room,  was  opened  now  to  face 
our  fragrant,  dewy  orchard  and  great,  mys 
terious  spaces  of  star-specked  heaven. 
Jerry  had  been  down  to  the  grove  and  cut 
piles  of  balmy  boughs  to  make  delightfully 
odorous  foundations  for  our  hay-couches. 

There  was  a  lighted  lantern  above  the 
door;  everything  was  as  ready  for  us  as 
the  suddenness  of  the  situation  allowed. 
"  How  inviting  those  beds  seem,"  I  said, 
and  then  we  sat  down  together  on  the  low 
step  and  looked  off  into  the  wonders  of  sky 
and  orchard.  We  remained  there  for  a  long 
time,  perfectly  hushed. 

"  I  feel  so  free,"  Roger  said  at  last, 
"  absolutely  irresponsible  and  free." 

"  So  do  I,"  I  whispered  back. 

We  were  quiet  again  for  a  long  time. 
[22] 


833  CHANTICLEER  £68 

Filially  Roger  said:/  "The  house  wasn't 
insured.  We  should  feel  very  poor." 

I  looked  steadily  before  me  at  the  beauties 
of  the  night.  "  Poor  ?  "  I  repeated. 

Roger  corrected  himself.  "  What  the 
world  would  call  poor.  Our  next  venture 
must  be  more  modest,  Molly.  We  may  have 
to  rent,  for  a  time.  If  they  had  managed  to 
save  a  little  furniture  it  would  have  been 
useful.  Think  what  it  means  to  begin 
stocking  a  home  again,  from  a  corkscrew  to 
a  piano." 

"  But  how  sordid  details  jar  upon  this 
night !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  You  realise  it  as 
thoroughly  as  I.  Laboriously  stock  a  home 
again !  Why  taint  the  solemn  mystery  of 
life  with  flatirons  and  canned  tomatoes  ? " 

"  '  Think  of  dashing  the  hopes  of  a  morn 
ing  with  a  cup  of  warm  coffee,  or  of  an 
evening  with  a  dish  of  tea,' "  he  quoted. 
"  That  sort  of  thing  was  all  very  well  for 
Thoreau,  but  for  us  —  why,  we  have 
[23] 


CHANTICLEER 


friends,  with  claims.  I  am  afraid,  my  dear, 
his  precepts  cannot  shape  our  lives.  How 
much  did  that  glorious  freedom  of  Walden 
cost  him,  anyway,  in  dollars  and  cents  ? 
But  then,  you  know,  I  could  not  raise  beans 
for  market." 

"  Twenty-seven  cents  a  week,"  I  said,  ig 
noring  the  beans.  "  And  he  was  able  to 
swear  that  he  enjoyed  his  life  to  the  very 
core.  Think  of  uninterrupted  weeks  to 
draw  inspiration  from  nature's  heart."  I 
thought  that  rather  a  disgusting  figure,  so 
I  talked  pretty  fast  just  then.  "  Think  of 
how  we  have  to  entertain  distracting  house- 
parties  at  Agawam,  to  pay  for  equally  irri 
tating  entertainments  at  our  friends'. 
Think  of  our  winters  in  the  city,  with  those 
loathsome  cups  of  lukewarm  five  o'clock 
tea,  and  dinners  in  roasting  hot  dining- 
rooms.  Thoreau  said,  and  we  know  he  spoke 
sincerely  :  l  The  true  harvest  of  my  daily 
life  is  somewhat  as  intangible  and  indescrib- 
[24] 


CHANTICLEER 


able  as  the  tints  of  morning  or  evening.  It 
is  a  little  star-dust  caught,  a  segment  of  the 
rainbow  which  I  have  clutched.'  ' 

There  was  another  long  silence.  Then 
Roger  said  :  "  I  could  finish  my  novel  in 
two  weeks,  undisturbed.  Shall  we  fly  to  the 
wild  woods,  Molly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  I  had  the  wings  of  a  dove,"  I 
cried,  "  for  then  would  I  flee  away  and  be 
at  rest." 

"  We  will,"  Roger  said,  and  his  head 
dropped  forward  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  "  We 
will,"  he  repeated  with  intense  tragedy  as 
if  he  were  playing  a  part  on  the  dramatic 
stage. 

I  had  accused  him  of  jarring  detail,  but 
I  am  sorry  to  say  I  struck  in  here  with, 
"  We  will  build  our  shanty  at  once  in  the 
primeval  forest.  When  one  thinks  of  it, 
how  little  is  absolutely  necessary  to  supply 
simple  creature  comforts  —  food,  lodging, 
and  raiment  with  no  margin  beyond  the  re- 
[25] 


CHANTICLEER 


quirements  of  health.  The  great  panorama 
of  nature  will  supply  our  aesthetic  joys  un 
paid.  Do  you  remember  how  our  master 
says  :  '  Men  will  go  farther  and  pay  more 
to  see  a  tawdry  picture  on  canvas,  a  poor 
painted  scene,  than  to  behold  the  fairest  or 
grandest  scene  that  nature  ever  displays,  in 
their  immediate  vicinity,  although  they  may 
never  have  seen  it  in  their  lives  '  ?  If  we 
have  a  few  of  our  choicest  books  with  us, 
we  shall  need  nothing  else  but  ourselves  and 
a  fire  on  the  hearth.  Thoreau  used  molasses 
for  sweetening  instead  of  sugar."  My 
voice  had  arisen  to  the  question  pitch. 
Roger  only  looked  his  answer.  "  He  had  a 
tailoress  make  his  trousers,"  I  went  on. 
"  His  entire  wardrobe  cost  him  only  twelve 
dollars  a  year.  You  wouldn't  want  me  to 
make  your  clothes,  would  you,  dear  ?  " 

Roger  looked  again.     So  then  I  left  the 
conversation  to   him.      He   amused   himself 
by  quoting  such  sayings  as  seemed  to  bolster 
[26] 


883  CHANTICLEER  g& 

his  hesitancy,  from  our  long-time  mentor 
and  our  fast-evolving  model,  as :  "  '  It  is  not 
necessary  that  a  man  should  earn  his  living 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  unless  he  sweats 
easier  than  I  do.'  '  If  a  man  does  not  keep 
pace  with  his  companions,  perhaps  it  is  be 
cause  he  hears  a  different  drummer.  Let 
him  step  to  the  music  which  he  hears,  how 
ever  measured,  or  far  away.' ' 

It  was  so  mysteriously  beautiful,  there  in 
the  starlight  and  the  bloom,  that  we  talked 
spasmodically  on  until  very  late.  I  saw 
that  Roger's  mood  was  for  nothing  practi 
cal,  so  I  emancipated  myself,  too,  from 
every  thought  of  molasses  and  home-made 
trousers. 

When  at  last  we  went  to  rest  upon  our 
sweet  spicy  beds,  our  fancies  had  taken  root 
in  a  far  tangled  woodland  that  we  knew. 
When  we  fell  asleep  we  had  each  caught  a 
generous  slice  of  rainbow  in  our  eager 
hands, 

[27] 


CHAPTEK   II 

THE  illusion  was  not  dispelled  when  our 
eyes  unclosed  with  the  first  stirring  of  the 
new  day.  We  had  left  the  great  door  of 
our  shelter  thrown  back,  and  we  returned 
to  consciousness  in  the  soft  flutter  of  a  glori 
ous  May-day's  birth.  \7ision  wandered  buoy 
antly  through  the  pink  and  grey  mysteries 
of  a  wide  skyscape  where  a  gentle  cloud-play 
enthralled  us ;  shifting,  massing,  dividing 
again,  then  piling  high  in  delicate  tones  of 
soft  grey  and  pink,  from  rose  to  mother-of- 
pearl,  all  magically  outlined  with  that  subtle 
glory  that  is  to  colour  what  odour  is  to 
flowers.  It  is  the  liquid  aureoles  of  saints,  I 
think.  This  mystic  brilliancy  dashed  about 
the  frail  cloud-wonders  until  that  unutter- 
[28] 


able  moment  when  the  sun  burst  forth.  I 
covered  my  eyes  with  my  hands.  Roger 
groaned.  Already  we  were  strung  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  strained  sestheticism.  That 
mad  May-day  carnival  of  bird  song  had 
awakened  us  when  the  first  streak  of  light 
touched  to  life  the  song  sparrow  in  the  maple 
copse.  lie  gave  the  key  and  then  —  the 
orchard  awoke. 

Hours  of  liquid  melody  came  to  us,  sweet 
as  honey,  clear  as  crystal,  high  and  low,  a 
wild  tangle  of  delicious  trills. 

The  sun  touched  the  flower-crowned  or 
chard,  the  fragrance  arose  in  gusts  that 
made  me  cry  out  rapturously.  Then  my 
eyes  looked  off  upon  the  brilliantly  green 
meadows  sparkling  with  dew.  I  wras  giddy 
and  faint. 

We  both  staggered  when  wo  tried  to  dress. 

Roger  said  it  was  from  our  cramping  beds. 

I   declared   it  was  May.      For  one  instant, 

as  I  gazed  down  into  those  sloping  orchards 

[29] 


CHANTICLEER 


and  pastures,  a  great  thought  began  pain 
fully  to  unfold,  and,  lo,  Roger  moved  across 
the  floor  for  his  shoes. 

"  O  Roger  !  "  I  cried.  "  I  was  just  about 
to  say  something  wonderful  —  marvellous, 
like  that  down  there!  And  then  you 
creaked  the  floor." 

"  I  was  only  getting  my  shoes,"  he  said. 
Then  he  pinched  my  cheek.  "It  is  always 
so,"  he  mocked,  but  half  seriously,  too,  "  in 
this  repressed  life.  We  must  wait  for  the 
great  words,  I  am  afraid,  until  we  move  with 
our  thoughts  on  pinions.  We  cannot  lop  off 
the  feet  of  clay.  Don't  you  remember 
Sainte-Beuve's  saying,  '  Every  one  contains 
a  dead  poet  in  his  soul  '  ?  " 

Roger's  most  serious  vice  is  that  he  has 
no  belief  in  my  unborn  wisdom.  He  de 
clares  I  say  enough  to  gratify  him,  as  it  is. 
Now  he  changed  the  subject  indulgently. 
"  Do  you  still  feel  free,  dear,  or  have  you 
begun  to  regret  our  lost  fleshpots  ?  " 
[30] 


CHANTICLEER 


"Regret?"  I  echoed.  "Why,  do  you 
know,  this  would  have  been  sweeping-day 
if  —  if  our  house  had  lived." 

We  laughed  derisively  in  memory  of 
those  mornings  of  clotted  dust.  "  No  more 
watching  of  maids  in  that  evil  hour,"  I 
cried.  "  Royal  Worcester  and  Sevres,  wil 
low  ware  and  Favrile  glass,  —  I  am  your 
slave  no  longer." 

"  The  bearskin  rug  and  the  royal  tiger 
will  harbour  no  moths  now,"  Roger  shouted 
buoyantly.  He  whistled  a  few  jubilant 
bars,  I  following  as  well  as  I  could  for 
laughing. 

I  had  been  looking  out  of  the  side  win 
dow,  and  I  now  called  my  husband  to  me. 
"  Look  there,"  I  said,  pointing  to  a  small, 
one-storied  storehouse,  "  the  very  thing  for 
our  Walden." 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  he  expostulated,  "  don't 
you  know  how   I   tried   to  use   that   for   a 
study  ?     It  is  too  small." 
[31] 


88  CHANTICLEER  86$ 

"  I  remember,"  I  answered  rather  stiffly, 
"  that  you  went  to  the  expense  of  having  a 
chimney  built  to  make  a  fireplace,  and  then 
abandoned  it,  not  because  it  was  too  small, 
but  because  you  found  more  inspiration  in 
the  tower-room  of  Agawam.  This  is  as 
large  as  the  great  man's  Walden.  It  would 
do  amply  for  us  if  we  built  a  little  wing  for 
sleeping-space." 

"  As  you  like,"  my  husband  returned. 
"  All  I  ask  is  liberty,  and  cover  sufficient  to 
keep  the  rain  out  of  my  ink-bottle." 

Our  maids  had  been  cared  for,  the  night 
before,  at  Jerry's  tiny  home  in  the  neigh 
bourhood.  The  first  thing  that  we  attended 
to,  the  next  morning,  was  to  despatch  them 
back  to  the  city  whence  they  had  come,  and 
then,  as  our  groom  was  fortunately  taking 
a  vacation  at  the  time,  we  were  soon  set 
free  from  plans  to  go  to  town  ourselves. 

I  wanted  to  buy  a  new  copy  of  "  Walden  " 
for  a  guide  aS  to  just  what  would  be  abso- 
[32] 


CHANTICLEER 


lutely  necessary  articles  for  our  experiment. 
Roger  had  considerable  business  to  attend 
to,  and  then  there  was  the  disagreeable  task 
before  us  of  giving  an  account  of  ourselves, 
our  loss,  and  our  schemes  to  our  only  near 
relative,  Roger's  brother  Maurice. 

"  I  hate  to  stand  and  deliver  to  that  boy," 
Roger  said,  as  we  left  the  train  and  the 
time  for  it  drew  near.  "  He  is  so  practical 
and  so  prosperous,  and  so  —  young.  I 
know  he  thinks  me  a  visionary  destined  to 
failure." 

"  And,  unhappily,  tied  to  an  equally  de 
luded  wife,"  I  laughed.  "  I  am  as  nervous, 
too,  as  if  he  had  some  right  to  be  our  cen 
sor.  Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  wise  if 
we  bought  our  effects  before  we  see  him? 
We  should  feel  more  as  if  we  were  irrevoca 
bly  committed  then." 

Roger  followed  me  into  the  first  house- 
furnishing  shop  we  came  to,  after  we  had 
procured  a  copy  of  "  Walden,"  although  he 
[33] 


CHANTICLEER 


protested,  "  I  should  not  have  been  dis 
suaded,  anyway." 

I  do  not  accuse  my  husband  of  cowardice, 
nor  any  man  in  like  predicament,  but  I  do 
know  that  delicate  matters  generally  shape 
themselves  so  that  some  woman  is  the  sole 
actor  in  the  scene.  Roger  had  tiresome  busi 
ness  to  call  him  to  the  far  end  of  town,  and 
after  our  shopping  was  concluded  there 
seemed  really  no  other  place  so  convenient 
for  me  in  which  to  wait  for  him  as  at  Mau 
rice's  office. 

Our  brother  is  a  young  physician  with  a 
large  and  important  practice.  His  consult 
ing  and  waiting  rooms  were  crowded  when 
I  arrived  with  my  conciliatory  smile,  but 
Maurice  had  me  shown  into  his  little  pri 
vate  reception  room,  where  he  said  he  would 
soon  come  to  me,  as  his  office  hours  were 
nearly  over.  I  hoped  against  hope  that  he 
would  not  be  disengaged  before  Roger 
arrived.  As  I  sat  there  in  hushed  silence, 
[34] 


CHANTICLEER 


framing  our  confession  to  my  brother-in- 
law,  logically,  sensibly,  as  I  could  do  so 
then,  my  hands  grew  icily  cold,  my  heart 
fluttered  painfully.  Stern  disapproval  and 
emotional  enthusiasm  are  unequal  foes  to 
meet.  I  said  to  myself  over  and  over  that 
we  were  not  a  pair  of  naughty  children  to 
be  snubbed  by  this  chit.  It  did  me  so  much 
good  to  think  of  Maurice  as  a  boy  that  I 
wonder  it  had  no  more  tonic  effect  upon 
me.  But  when  I  heard  his  autocratic  step 
crossing  the  hall  to  me,  it  made  no  differ 
ence  that  it  was  elastic  with  youth.  It  was 
that  of  a  man  of  the  world,  and  my  artistic 
soul  trembled  before  it. 

He  shook  hands  with  me  again,  saying 
cordially,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you, 
Mary."  Then  he  seated  himself  on  the 
padded  leather  divan  beside  me,  with  his 
usual  elegant  ceremony,  no  trace  of  surprise 
in  his  manner  that  I  should  have  interrupted 
him  in  a  busy  morning. 
[35] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  turned  about  to  face  him.  "  We  have 
had  an  accident,"  I  began. 

"  Oh,"  he  asked  with  eager  interest,  evi 
dently  thinking  his  medical  aid  was  sought, 
"  is  it  you  or  Roger  ?  " 

"  Our  house,"  I  answered,  smiling  at  his 
gravity;  "  our  house  was  burned  last  night." 

"  ISTot  much  burned,  I  imagine,  from 
your  face,"  he  laughed. 

"  Burned  down,"  I  replied  stoutly. 

There  was  something  indefinable  of  re 
proof  in  his  handsome  young  face,  as  he 
said  solemnly,  "  This  must  be  a  real  blow 
to  Roger." 

I  shook  my  head.  Where  were  that  sense 
and  that  logic  that  I  had  conned  like  a  les 
son  not  a  half -hour  before  ?  "  Roger  does 
not  care  either,"  I  said.  I  think  it  must 
have  been  a  little  hysterical,  but  I  was 
aware  that  I  was  smiling  broadly,  so  pleased 
did  I  seem  at  our  misfortune. 

Maurice  was  silent.  He  simply  gazed 
[36] 


CHANTICLEER 


at  me  wonderingly.  Finally  I  stammered, 
"  A  house  like  that  is  a  great  care.  We 
had  so  many  valuable  things,  don't  you 
know?" 

"  So  I  supposed,"  he  returned  coldly. 

"  Our  wedding-gifts  alone,  silver  and 
glass  and  china,  were  enough  to  drive  one 
demented.  And  then  that  rich  bachelor 
uncle  of  mine  in  Chicago  is  always  sending 
us  care-laden  gifts  —  rare  canvases,  or  tap 
estries,  or  bronzes.  We  are  going  to  build 
a  hut  on  Koger's  camping  property,  to  get 
away  from  it  all,"  I  cried  in  one  crazy  out 
burst. 

Maurice  smiled.  "  Is  there  no  way  to 
stay  this  reprehensible  uncle,  short  of  hid 
ing  from  him  in  the  woods  ?  " 

"  But  you  don't  understand.  It  is  the 
woods  that  we  want;  a  wild,  free  life  un 
der  natural  conditions." 

"  Yes,  Mary.  You  might  enjoy,  a  little 
later  in  the  season,  a  few  weeks  of  camping. 
[3Y] 


CHANTICLEER 


But,  for  the  present,  you  must  come  to  me." 
This  provident  youth  had  a  whole  estab 
lishment  of  his  own.  "  Consider  this  your 
home  until  Agawam  is  rebuilt." 

"  Agawam  rebuilt !  "  I  echoed.  Were 
we  going  to  be  routed,  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
after  all,  by  this  determined  business  spirit? 
"  We  will  never  build  again  even  as  near 
civilisation  as  that.  We  both  believe  domes 
tic  conditions  are  growing  too  complex  for 
any  sort  of  comfortable  living.  This  is  due 
wholly  to  unreasonable  pride,"  I  declaimed, 
in  platform  earnestness.  "  The  vice  urges 
us  to  live  beyond  our  means,  with  conse 
quent  mental  agony.  It  puts  thumbscrews 
on  fireside  happiness,  in  the  servant  ques 
tion.  It  has  degraded  labour.  Competency 
looks  higher  now  than  the  kitchen.  Our 
experiment  will  prove  to  the  world  how 
little  of  this  nervous  strain  to  make  both 
ends  meet  is  really  necessary  to  insure 
happy  and  healthful  living  for  a  congenial 
[38] 


833  CHANTICLEER  S& 

couple  of  wide  interests.     We  wish,  too,  to 
elevate  honest  toil." 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  earnest,  Mary,"  he 
replied  with  patient  indulgence.  "  But  when 
the  first  snow  flurry  comes,  I  will  see  that 
my  pleasantest  spare  rooms  are  in  order  for 
you." 

"  Maurice,"  I  answered,  "  you  vex  me. 
Do  you  suppose  if  I  could  not  stand  the 
woods  in  winter,  I  could  the  life  in  a  vil 
lage  ?  For  years  we  have  sought,  in  the  fall, 
the  largest  city  we  could  find  —  New  York, 
when  it  was  not  Paris,  or  London.  I  know 
the  hideous  monotony  of  a  suburban  town, 
and  I  pity  you,  shut  up  here,  when  the 
whole  country  outside  is  blossoming  and 
bird-thrilled." 

Maurice  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down 
by  a  table  laden  with  the  alluring  volumes  he 
has  no  time  to  read.  "  Won't  you,  at  least, 
Mary,  accept  my  hospitality  until  Roger  has 
your  —  your  camp  ready  for  you  ?  " 
[39] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Thank  you,"  I  said,  "  you  are  very 
kind,  but  we  go  to-morrow  to  the  woods." 

"  You.  will  be  lonely,"  he  answered.  "  I 
shall  run  out  for  a  Sunday  now  and  then, 
during  the  summer,  if  I  can  pull  away. 
And  probably  others  will  come  too." 

I  am  afraid  I  winced.  Then  I  mur 
mured,  "  You  will  be  welcome,  but  we  shall 
not  be  lonely." 

"  Last  night,  you  said,  Mary  ?  "  Maurice 
ejaculated  presently.  "  Why  did  you  not 
come  right  here  ?  " 

I  hesitated.  I  did  not  like  to  say  we 
preferred  our  barn.  And  just  then  Roger 
bustled  in  upon  the  conversation.  He  was 
so  elated  that,  for  a  moment,  he  forgot  his 
brother's  inconvenient  sense.  "  What  do 
you  think  ?  "  he  cried ;  "  the  luckiest  thing ! 
I  got  down  there  in  Water  Street  just  as 
they  were  wrecking  the  disabled  steamer 
—  you  remember,  Maurice,  the  excursion 
steamer  Caroline,  that  a  drunken  pilot  ran 
[40] 


CHANTICLEER 


on  the  rocks  last  summer.  Well,  Molly,  I 
bought  two  of  those  old  state-rooms,  a  pair 
of  bunks  in  each.  Won't  they  be  just  the 
thing  to  complete  our  shanty  ?  One  put  on 
each  end  of  the  corn-house,  like  wings." 

"  Splendid,"  I  returned,  eyeing  Maurice. 
"  Don't  you  think,  Roger,  we  would  better 
go  now  2  " 


[41] 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  camping-ground  which  we  were  to 
make  our  future  home  was  a  bit  of  wild 
woodland  lying  along  the  creek  Jan  Vosen- 
kill,  about  ten  miles  nearer  the  rugged 
mountains  that  had  outlined  our  horizon  at 
Agawam. 

A  few  years  previously  Roger  had  been 
one  of  a  party  of  five  artist  friends  to  pur 
chase  fifteen  acres  of  this  prospective  sports 
man's  paradise.  There  was  very  little  hunt 
ing  there  —  mostly  squirrels  and  rabbits  — 
and  there  had  been  still  less  fishing  origi 
nally,  but  the  cold,  clear  stream  was  an  ex 
cellent  one  for  trout,  and  the  new  land 
owners  had  been  stocking  it  for  the  past 
season  or  two  generously,  so  that  now  the 
[42] 


CHANTICLEER 


fascinating  fish  lured  by  their  size  and  num 
bers  as  well  as  by  their  captivating  coyness. 
Although  each  of  the  sportsmen  owned  his 
own  three  acres  of  land  with  defined  boun 
daries,  each  year  they  had  camped  for  a 
few  weeks  in  a  body. 

Roger's  intention  now  was  to  preempt  his 
own  acres  for  our  home.  Two  men  went 
with  Jerry  to  transport  the  corn-house,  and 
to  assist  Roger  in  erecting  it  after  I  had 
selected  a  desirable  location. 

My  husband  and  I  arrived  at  the  Vosen- 
kill  several  hours  before  the  men  came,  so 
that  we  had  plenty  of  time  to  consider  where 
the  house  should  stand.  After  changing 
our  minds  many  times,  —  for  there  was  an 
embarrassing  choice,  —  -  we  finally  selected 
a  tall,  rugged  pine  to  keep  guard  over  us 
and  to  send  its  spicy,  invigorating  odours  in 
at  our  windows.  We  stood  on  the  great, 
lichen-covered  rock  under  the  rustling  pine 
to  listen  to  the  noisy  flow  of  the  Vosenkill, 
[43], 


CHANTICLEER 


sparkling  lustrously  here  and  there  where 
there  was  a  break  in  the  trees  and  the  tall 
underbrush.  Before  us  spread  out  that  tan 
gle  of  woodland  glory  that  nature  lovers 
crave  to  keep  them  healthy;  squawberry 
vines  running  their  red  riot  through  moss 
and  fern,  tall  brakes  scenting  the  air  subtly, 
vitally,  alder  bushes  rustling  softly,  spruces 
and  hickory  with,  now  and  then,  a  chestnut 
in  majestic  outline,  seemed  to  give  out  a 
reticent  welcome  to  us  who  loved  them 
with  all  the  abandon  of  childhood. 

"  I  have  often  waited  in  our  house  for 
you,  Roger,"  I  said  finally,  after  it  had 
grown  painful  to  care  so  much  for  these 
woods,  "  but  it  is  a  new  sensation  to  wait 
for  the  house." 

"  All  our  sensations  will  be  new  now," 
my  husband  replied.  "  We  have  never  be 
gun  life  before  in  full  maturity.  What 
shall  we  make  of  it,  Mary?  Failure  or 
success  ?  " 

[44] 


f^^^^^^it^^^g^g^^^? 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Success,"   I   answered. 

And  then  Roger  turned  his  head  and  said, 
"  Here  comes  our  house." 

Crashing  through  low,  overhanging  hem 
locks,  banging  against  fern-covered  rocks, 
now  slipping  down  a  bank  of  moss,  then. 
thrusting  two  wheels  in  mid-air  to  clear 
some  projecting  coil  of  roots,  came  the  long 
lumber  wagon  that  held  our  home  and  also 
the  three  wrorkmen.  The  state-rooms  we  had 
left  in  town  to  be  entirely  renovated  with 
fresh  paint  and  paper.  The  men  would  have 
to  come  out  to  us  once  more  to  complete  the 
building,  but  we  could  not  wait  in  the  vil 
lage  until  all  this  was  done. 

When  the  four  men  were  setting  up  our 
house,  I  heard  Jerry  say  to  my  husband, 
"  I  do'  know  what  it  means,  sir,  your 
comin'  here,  when  you're  used  to  that  nice 
house,  an'  the  bosses  an'  all,  sir." 

Roger  looked  perplexed  for  a  moment. 
It  seemed  a  difficult  task  to  attempt  to  ex- 
[45] 


CHANTICLEER 


pand  that  narrow  ignorance  to  encompass 
our  point  of  view.  "  I  do  regret  selling  the 
horses/'  he  answered,  "  but  that  is  all. 
That  fine  house  meant  a  great  deal  of  care 
as  well  as  expense  to  us,  Jerry.  Don't  you 
remember  how  hard  it  was  to  keep  the  place 
looking  as  nice  as  we  wranted  it  ?  Shrubbery 
would  not  grow  well  in  that  soil,  nor  grass 
under  the  trees.  And  have  you  forgotten 
how  the  cook  and  one  of  the  maids  left  my 
wife  last  summer  when  she  had  a  houseful  of 
guests  ?  And  the  time  when  sneak-thieves 
broke  in  and  carried  off  a  chest  of  silver  be 
fore  they  went  to  the  barn  and  took  Frosty's 
best  harness  ?  " 

Jerry  felt  somewhat  responsible  for  the 
harness,  so  he  answered  glibly,  "  O  yes,  sir. 
There's  bad  luck  in  this  world  for  ev'ry- 
body." 

"  Have  you  never  thought,"  Roger  went 
on,  "  that  some  day,  by  working  hard  now 
and  denying  yourself  a  great  deal,  you  will 
[46] 


CHANTICLEER 


have  laid  by  enough  to  rest  and  take  life 
easily  ?  " 

"  I  guess  ev'rybody  builds  them  kind  o' 
air-castles/'  Jerry  grinned  rather  sheep 
ishly. 

Roger  nodded.  "  Of  course  they  do.  It 
is  human  nature.  But  are  they  very  often 
realised  ?  Don't  you  find  that  your  friends 
usually  work  themselves  into  their  graves 
before  the  happy  time  of  ease  comes? 
Well,  we  are  not  going  to  wait  for  that 
some  day.  It  is  here  now.  We  have  laid 
aside  every  unnecessary  care.  Now  I  am 
sure  that  you  really  do  not  enjoy  for  your 
self  that  Brussels  carpet  you  bought  last 
week,  but  you  thought  you  must  get  it  to 
be  as  respectable  as  the  Ryans." 

"  That's  true,  sir.  I  mean,  my  girl  — 
she  wanted  it,  account  o'  th'  Ryanses." 

"  Exactly.  We  shall  not  even  know  here 
what  the  Ryans  have.  We  love  the  woods, 
my  wife  and  I,  more  than  anything  in  the 
[47] 


m  CHANTICLEER  ggg 

world,  and  we  mean  to  enjoy  them,  free 
from  every  useless  worry.  There  will  be 
no  anxiety  about  making  both  ends  meet 
here.  We  shall  keep  easily  in  advance  of 
our  income,  not  be  always  panting  to  catch 
up  with  it." 

Jerry's  eyes  were  becoming  a  little  dazed, 
and  Roger  said  quickly:  "Do  you  ever 
realise  how  few  of  the  things  you  strain  so 
hard  to  buy  are  really  indispensable?  We 
believe  that  an  unreasonable  pride  brings 
much  useless  misery  into  the  world.  You 
won't  let  your  boys  run  barefooted  in  sum 
mer,  as  you  did  yourself  —  though  their 
toes  ache  with  the  heat,  and  their  shoes  are 
a  tax  upon  your  wages  —  simply  because 
labourers'  sons  no  longer  do  that.  The  same 
spirit  has  governed  us.  We  have  lived  up 
to  our  friends,  but  we  have  come  to  our 
senses  at  last." 

I  had  been  regretting  ever  since  my  con 
versation  with  Maurice,  that  I  did  not  quote 
[48] 


CHANTICLEER 


to  him  what  Marcus  Aurelius  said  so  aptly 
upon  this  point  :  "  I  have  often  wondered 
how  it  comes  to  pass  that  everybody  should 
love  themselves  best,  and  yet  value  their 
neighbours'  opinion  about  themselves  more 
than  their  own."  Men  of  our  brother's 
stamp  are  much  more  impressed  by  the 
word  of  a  great  man,  especially  if  it  is  an 
old  great  man,  than  by  their  contempora 
neous  relatives'  opinion.  In  fact,  with  our 
selves,  I  know  the  farther  we  go  back  for 
our  own  mental  props  the  surer  does  the 
foundation  of  our  beliefs  seem  to  be.  But 
that  is  clearly  not  so  with  Jerry,  and  I  al 
ways  say  my  sage  things  to  the  wrong  per 
son.  When  I  quoted  the  ancient  wise  man 
who  persecuted  Christians  to  the  ignorant 
modern  who  is  good  to  horses,  there  seemed 
no  understanding  between  them. 

Our    ex-coachman    merely    said    ambigu 
ously,  "  Some  folks  are  built  that  way,"  be 
fore  he  excluded  me  pointedly  by  tacking 
[49] 


his  next  remark  on  to  Roger's  last  one: 
"  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  I'm  thinkin'  'bout 
this  time  next  year.  Can  I  ast  ye  then  which 
way  is  best  ?  " 

"  Indeed  you  may,  Jerry.  That  is  a  just 
demand,"  Roger  answered,  turning  ab 
ruptly  to  look  down  into  a  field  below  us. 
"  I  mean  to  have  that  ploughed  up  and  set 
out  in  early  vegetables,"  he  said.  "  We  shall 
enjoy  tending  them,  as  well  as  eating  them. 
Whom  could  I  get  to  do  it  ?  " 

Each  of  the  three  listeners  had  a  farmer 
to  suggest.  One  was  settled  upon,  and  his 
special  advocate  delegated  to  engage  his  ser 
vices. 

Still  smarting  as  we  were  from  the  do 
mestic  discomforts  that  even  sweeping-day 
insured  in  our  late  complicated  system  of 
housekeeping,  we  were  amazed  at  the  ease 
with  which  we  slipped  into  our  new  environ 
ment.  We  were  determined  to  begin  with 
only  such  encumbrances  of  domestic  living 
[50] 


CHANTICLEER 


as  were  absolutely  indispensable  for  most 
primitive  comfort,  then,  from  time  to  time, 
to  add  to  our  store  anything  of  this  sort 
that  extended  experience  seemed  to  demand. 
There  was  to  be  not  one  superfluity  to  re 
quire  care.  The  poorest  immigrant  could 
hardly  begin  housekeeping  on  a  more  lim 
ited  scale.  We  had  no  pictures.  There  could 
be  no  need  of  canvases  to  collect  dust  and 
to  be  mocked  by  the  great  gallery  of  ever- 
changing  masterpieces  nature  had  hung 
about  us.  Neither  did  we  require  recepta 
cles  in  which  to  watch  the  dropping  and  de 
cay  of  the  floral  splendours  which  \ve  had  the 
possibility  of  seeing  in  the  first,  fresh  beauty 
of  the  woods  and  pastures.  We  expected 
to  collect  a  few  good  books  in  time,  but  even 
here  it  was  curious  to  note  how  little  printed 
lore  such  omnivorous  readers  as  we  were 
craved  when  we  had  so  much  mental  food 
furnished  at  first  hand. 

Our  living-room  was  of  this  simple   ar- 
[51] 


CHANTICLEER 


rangement:  dazzlingly  fresh  white  walls 
and  ceilings,  a  bare  pine  floor  scoured  to  its 
whitest  possibilities,  a  table  of  the  same 
wood  and  the  same  cleanliness.  On  the  lat 
ter  we  placed  a  student's  lamp  and  some 
books,  when  it  was  not  in  use  as  a  dining- 
table  ;  when  it  was  I  spread  it  with  a  square 
of  heavy  white  crash  and  the  few  indispen 
sable  dishes  of  substantial  ware  that  were 
needed  to  serve  most  simply  our  meal  of  one 
course  and,  usually,  of  one  dish  —  some 
thing  appetising  and  nutritious,  nothing 
more.  We  had  not  come  to  Eden  to  waste 
one  precious  moment  with  unnecessary  cook 
ing  and  dish-washing. 

When  Roger  first  saw  me  undertaking 
this  last  imperative  bit  of  sordid  detail  he 
said,  "  I  hate  to  see  you  do  that,  Molly. 
Would  it  not  seem  less  ignominious  if  we 
called  it  cleansing  instead  of  washing  ?  " 

"  I  heard  you  lecture  Jerry,  only  this 
morning,  upon  the  subject  of  foolish  pride," 
[52] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  answered,  diving  with  my  novice's  hand 
after  the  soap.  "  I  call  it  dish-washing." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Roger. 

To  go  back  to  the  matter  of  our  furnish 
ing.  Besides  the  table,  our  living-room  held 
four  large  easy-chairs  of  wicker  with  com 
fortable  cushions,  one  for  each  of  us  and  two 
others  for  possible  guests,  intermixed  with 
a  few  smaller  seats;  and  upon  the  narrow 
mantel,  over  the  open  fireplace  where  our 
simple  cookery  was  done,  a  clock  and  a  pair 
of  bedroom  candlesticks.  Not  another  thing 
to  be  kept  clean  and  to  distract  the  eye  from 
the  marvels  of  sight  that  our  broad  windows 
and  our  open  door  disclosed. 

The  two  bedrooms  adjoining  the  chief 
room,  one  on  each  side,  had,  besides  their 
upper  and  lower  berths  luxuriously  fitted 
with  the  best  of  springs  and  hair  mat 
tresses,  good  linen  and  soft  blankets,  merely 
a  chair  in  each,  a  washstand  with  neces 
sary  toilet  articles,  a  small  mirror  and  a 
[53] 


CHANTICLEER 


hanging  shelf,  besides  a  set  of  drawers  and 
a  row  of  hooks.  Nothing  could  be  simpler, 
and  still  no  avenue  to  cleanliness  or  com 
fortable  sleeping  was  closed. 

Our  first  purchase  was  decidedly  utilita 
rian.  It  was  a  cow.  We  had  a  little  shed 
built  for  her  down  in  a  hollow  where  it 
might  not  be  seen  from  the  house,  and  learn 
ing  to  milk  furnished  both  the  comedy  and 
the  tragedy  of  several  of  our  earliest  days. 
I  have  never  seen  Roger  so  boyishly  boastful 
as  when  he  had  mastered  that  homely  art. 
He  acquired  it  before  I  did  —  in  fact,  I 
did  not  acquire  it  at  all,  when  I  saw  how 
willing  he  was  to  pay  the  price  of  his  su 
periority. 

Then  we  bought  some  chickens,  and,  with 
our  own  hands,  built  a  home  for  them  ad 
joining  the  cow-shed.  Did  ever  the  last  touch 
of  architectural  splendour  on  some  stately 
palace  shed  such  awesome  satisfaction  upon 
its  promoters  as  did  this  work  of  ours  when, 
[54] 


CHANTICLEER 


at  last,  we  had  made  it  sufficiently  secure 
to  really  hold  our  feathered  possessions  ? 

I  shall  never  forget  the  face  of  calm  con 
tent  with  which  Roger  came  to  me  one  morn 
ing  to  announce :  "  Molly,  they  are  all 
there.  Not  one  missing." 

I  sat  down  on  the  doorstep.  The  news 
seemed  almost  prostrating.  "  To  think  of 
that !  "  I  cried.  "  Why,  once  I  could  not 
drive  a  nail  straight  or  draw  a  screw.  And 
now  — 

"  Yes,"  Roger  said,  walking  away,  "  you 
helped  me  considerably,  Mary." 

Those  were  Elysian  days,  when  even  the 
homely  details  were  touched  with  the  glory 
of  Eden.  We  almost  forgot  that  man  had 
fallen,  and  the  whole  world  was  ashamed. 

We  arose  with  the  opening  notes  of  the 
woodland  anthem,  whether  into  pink  dawn, 
or  soft  summer  rain.  We  touched  a  match 
to  the  fire  laid  upon  the  hearth,  and  pre 
pared  hastily  a  cereal  and  some  coffee,  both 
[55] 


CHANTICLEER 


made  fit  for  the  gods  by  the  rich,  yellow 
cream  from  our  Alderney  cow.  After  our 
simple  meal,  we  waited  for  nothing.  To 
gether  we  wandered  into  wonderland,  aim 
lessly,  whither  the  spirit  led  us.  The  smell 
of  the  earth  and  of  moss,  the  spiciness  of 
young  ferns  whose  prodigality  our  feet  un 
wittingly  crushed,  the  fainter  sweetness  of 
the  gay  azaleas,  with  the  whole  riot  of  the 
smaller  undergrowths,  all  fresh  and  radiant, 
lifted  us  to  dizzy  heights  of  sublimity. 

"  Our  violets  alone  are  worth  living  for," 
I  said  one  morning,  when  we  had  passed 
through  a  marshy  bit  where  they  clustered 
densely  in  fragrant  clumps,  "  with  their 
variety  of  colour,  and  size,  and  delicate  vein- 
ing,  and  the  surprises  in  odour,  from  the  first 
May  awakening  to  the  large  deep-lined  blue 
beauties  of  early  June." 

Roger  interrupted  me  to  wave  his  hand 
toward  an  old  pasture  bottom  upon  which 
we  were  just  emerging.  I  gave  a  little  cry, 
[56] 


CHANTICLEER 


and  we  both  ran  down  into  it,  faintly  blue 
with  the  fairy  snow  of  bluets.  As  far  as 
our  wondering  eyes  could  reach  that  tender 
colour  stretched  out  before  us.  Behind  us 
arose  the  rich  morning  song  of  that  stranger 
bird,  the  hermit  thrush. 

"  O  my  God,"  I  cried,  clasping  my  hands 
reverently,  "  I  am  glad  to  be  alive  !  " 

Roger's  hat  came  off.  After  a  brief 
silence,  I  said  weakly :  "  Take  me  home.  I 
can  stand  no  more  to-day." 

We  turned  about  dumbly,  and  went  back, 
I  to  my  few  household  duties,  and  Roger 
to  his  writing.  Later  I  took  cushions  and 
my  sewing,  and  went  out  to  sit  on  the  great 
rock  under  the  pine  tree  that  guards  our 
house.  I  always  felt  it  was  only  fair 
that,  while  Roger  was  working,  I  should 
do  something  practical,  and  then  I  knew 
I  should  want  some  cool  print  gowns  for 
July  and  August.  I  intended  to  make  them 
very  simple,  but  even  so,  those  long  seams 
[57] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  %» 

were  as  endless  as  if  some  malignant  fairy- 
stretched  them  as  I  sewed.  With  so  much 
to  distract  the  attention  it  was  difficult  to 
keep  from  losing  my  needle.  If  I  raised 
my  head  to  listen  to  an  unfamiliar  bird  note, 
it  was  gone.  If  a  bright  splash  of  colour 
called  me  down  the  path  only  a  very  little 
way,  azalea  hunting,  or  if  I  stopped  to  climb 
up  to  maidenhair  fern  growing  where  I  had 
never  expected  to  find  it,  I  came  back  to  a 
missing  needle  and  a  seam  not  so  nearly 
done  by  far  as  when  I  had  left  it.  I  con 
cluded  to  try  photography  for  my  serious 
work. 

That  made  a  new  interest  for  Roger,  too. 
I  took  beautiful  bits  of  our  favourite  spots, 
making  up  my  compositions  while  my  hus 
band  wrote.  At  night  we  fashioned  a  dark 
room  out  of  one  of  the  bedrooms,  and  de 
veloped  the  plates.  It  was  another  and  a 
substantial  joy.  Every  hour  seemed  more 
completely  abandoned  to  happiness. 
[58] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  We  are,  indeed,  in  a  new  world.  It  is 
Genesis,"  I  said  once,  after  a  glorious  after 
noon  of  bird  study  was  followed  by  a 
moonlight  walk  up  the  Vosenkill.  "  '  The 
evening  and  the  morning  were  the  first 
day.'  " 

"  Don't,"  said  Roger.  "  The  serpent  en 
tered  so  soon." 

He  did  not  enter  then,  to  us,  but  June 
did.  Heavily  fragrant  wild  grape  blossoms 
hung  from  vine-draped  trees  and  clambered 
over  fallen  stumps.  Ferns  grew  more  luxu 
riantly.  The  elderberry  bushes  were  massed 
with  their  green-white  prodigality;  and 
the  wild  roses,  waxen  blossoms  set  in  waxen 
foliage,  were  the  chief  glory  of  our  more 
open  spaces.  And  then  —  the  wealth  of 
laurel  bloom  was  upon  us. 

A  half -hour's  walk  brought  us  to  the  foot 
hills  of  the  mountains,  where  this  June 
splendour  spread  like  a  carpet  before  us  in 
acres  of  rosy  colour.  We  had,  to  be  sure, 
[59] 


CHANTICLEER 


a  more  temperate  display  nearer  home, 
but,  for  the  floral  carnival,  we  must  make 
some  exertion,  which  we  were  only  too  glad 
to  do,  every  day  while  they  were  in  their 
supremacy. 

Once  we  went  to  them  in  the  moonlight; 
a  soft  June  night,  flooded  with  tender  ro 
mance.  We  wandered  through  the  rough 
ways  of  the  blooming  acres,  conscious  only 
of  the  moon  and  the  flowers,  until  soul-wea 
riness  dragged  us  dowTi  upon  a  great  boul 
der,  our  feet  among  the  laurel.  A  stem  of 
the  lovely  flowers  lay  against  my  cheek.  I 
gathered  it  with  a  sudden  impulse,  and 
turned  to  fasten  it  in  my  husband's  button 
hole.  He  looked  down  at  me  smiling.  I 
thought  how  handsome  he  was  in  the  moon 
light,  My  hands  trembled  with  the  rapture 
of  the  maid  Molly  in  the  long  ago,  and  I 
drew  shyly  away  from  him.  He  put  out  his 
arm  as  if  to  draw  me  to  him,  and  then 
stopped,  as  if  he,  too,  were  afraid.  We  sat 
[60] 


CHANTICLEER 


in  embarrassed  silence  until  with  an  effort 
Roger  wheeled  toward  me  to  lift  my  face 
to  his. 

Gazing  steadily  down  into  my  eyes  he 
whispered,  "  Mary,  I  love  you." 

"  So  do  I,"  I  whispered  back.  "  I  mean 
—  you,  Roger  !  " 

Then  he  pressed  me  against  his  heart,  for 
such  a  declaration  of  what  I  had  been  to 
him,  and  would  be  to  him,  as  only  my  most 
secret  soul  can  phrase. 

"  When  I  first  loved  you,"  he  added,  "  I 
thought  I  understood  what  it  meant.  But 
that  was  only  a  young  man's  —  a  stranger's 
fancy.  Now,  dearest,  it  is  a  husband  of 
seven  years  —  your  other  self  —  that  woos 
you."  He  paused  as  if  his  life's  happiness 
depended  upon  my  answer. 

"  And  wins  me,  Roger,"  I  said,  looking 
up  shyly,  to  be  kissed. 


[61] 


CHAPTER  IV 

FOR  the  first  weeks  of  that  era  of  peace  we 
had  purposely  cut  ourselves  off  from  postal 
communication  with  the  outside  world. 

But  there  came  a  time  when  Roger  must 
begin  reading  proof  of  the  book  he  had  in 
press;  and  so,  one  evil  morning,  he  was 
obliged  to  slip  a  prosaic  leaf  into  the  poetic 
calendar  of  halcyon  days  of  which  we  had 
enjoyed  more  than  one  month.  He  went  to 
town  —  the  town  of  trolley  cars  and  Mau 
rice,  of  bargain  counters  and  the  odours  of 
yesterday's  dinner.  I  felt  so  sorry  for  him 
when  he  set  off,  as  conventionally  dressed  and 
as  commonplace  as  a  bank  president,  that  I 
promised  recklessly  to  be  as  miserable  as  I 
could  while  he  was  gone.  "  I  dare  you  to  be 
[62] 


1J/HRKK    O.Vf''.    CATCHES   t-'A SCf.VA  TfNC   Cl.fMl'SKS 
<>/•'    '///A'    I'ALLEY" 


CHANTICLEER 


miserable  here,"  he  called  back,  in  wistful 
gaiety,  as  he  hurried  away,  an  absurd 
creature  with  money  in  his  pockets. 

Before  he  was  barely  out  of  sight  it  seemed 
foolish  for  me  to  be  any  more  wretched  than 
his  absence  made  obligatory.  So  I  took  my 
camera  up  to  what  we  call  our  observatory: 
the  summit  of  a  fern-covered  cliff  where  one 
catches  fascinating  glimpses  of  the  valley. 
Before  I  knew  it  I  was  composing  alluring 
bits  of  pictorial  peace,  and  singing  like  a 
lark.  Suddenly  I  realised  from  the  position 
of  the  sun  that  it  must  be  noon.  Roger  had 
started  away  so  early  that  it  was  almost  time 
for  him  to  return,  and  I  had  forgotten  to  be 
lonely.  Guiltily  I  ran  to  the  edge  of  the 
rocks  to  look  down  our  avenue  of  trees. 
There  the  dear  fellow  was,  winding  his  way 
through  tangled  undergrowths  at  an  eager 
pace  that  smote  my  conscience. 

"  Who  is  that  handsome  stranger  ?  "  I 
sang  out  jauntily. 

[63] 


CHANTICLEER 


He  lifted  a  radiant  face  of  surprise  to  me. 
"  The  fairy  prince,  come  for  his  beautiful 
bride,"  he  called  back. 

He  held  out  his  arms,  and  I  tried  to  run 
down  into  them,  with  a  naiad's  grace,  but, 
someway,  I  slipped  on  the  pine  needles,  and 
slid  down  to  his  feet,  a  dishevelled  heap. 
He  picked  me  up  tenderly,  hunting  for  a 
clean  place  on  my  face  to  kiss,  I  paying  no 
heed  to  the  anxious  inquiries  in  my  nervous 
dread  of  what  he  might  have  encountered. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  found  letters,  as  well  as 
proofs,  Roger  ?  "  I  began,  with  questioning 
inflection.  "  Tell  me,  are  the  Philistines  at 
our  heels  ?  " 

He  slipped  my  hand  through  his  arm,  and 
we  moved  toward  the  house  as  he  said  with 
solemn  gravity,  that  had  very  little  of  mock 
ery  in  it :  — 

"  The  serpent  has  entered  Paradise." 

"  O  Roger,"  I  cried  tragically,  "  in  what 
form  ?  " 

[64] 


CHANTICLEER 


He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  one  lithe,  grace 
ful  tempter,  coiling  about  our  hearthstone, 
but,  my  dear  girl,  our  innocent  feet  have 
stepped  into  a  whole  nest  of  adders.  I  will 
show  you  what  I  mean  when  we  get  to  the 
house." 

When  we  reached  there  my  husband 
walked  over  to  the  table  and  laid  a  letter  upon 
it. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Lyman's  writing,"  I  said.  "  Is 
he  coming  here  ?  " 

Mr.  Lyman  was  one  of  the  camping  co 
terie. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  Roger  answered.  "  He 
seems  to  have  a  notion  that  we  have  some 
sort  of  spacious  cottage."  He  proceeded  to 
read  :  "  I  am  just  getting  about  after  pneu 
monia.  My  physician  has  advised  the  Adi- 
rondacks,  but  I  believe  the  Vosenkill  would 
be  more  beneficial.  I  am  wondering  if  you 
would  oblige  a  sick  old  chap  with  a  bed  in 
your  house,  while  his  camp  is  being  set  up. 
[65] 


CHANTICLEER 


Of  course  my  wife  will  come  to  look  after  me. 
Unless  we  hear  to  the  contrary  we  will  be 
with  you  next  week  on  Tuesday." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  we  said  together  ;  and 
then  my  soul  shrieked  audibly,  "  But  Mr. 
Lyman's  wife  !  " 

Roger  laid  down  another  envelope.  "  Mr. 
Enderson  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Is  he  coming,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Hearing  of  the  Lymans',  and  our 
venture,  he  says  he  will  set  up  camp  with  his 
wife  and  his  brother  here  for  the  entire  sea 
son,  this  year.  They  come  on  Monday." 

"  Ah,"  I  whispered. 

"  I  went  to  see  Judge  Elliott  about  buying 
the  land  below  us.  He  thought  he  would  not 
dispose  of  it  after  all.  But,  rather  — 
Roger's  voice  grew  strained,  "  he  should 
build  there  for  himself."  I  groaned.  "  Re 
serve  your  lamentations  till  I  finish  the  quo 
tation,  my  dear,"  Roger  said. 

"  What  will  he  build  ?  "  I  asked  then. 

My  husband's  teeth  set.     The  words  came 
[66] 


CHANTICLEER 


hard.  They  were  these,  "  A  rustic  cot 
tage" 

I  clapped  my  hands  to  my  ears,  and  stag 
gered  to  a  seat.  Roger  laughed  sardonically. 
"  Do  you  think,  if  I  make  some  strong  coffee 
to  brace  us,  we  can  live  until  morning  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

His  answer  was,  "  Maurice  is  coming  the 
following  week." 

"  We  will  make  him  milk  the  cow,"  was 
my  hysterical  exclamation  of  unsisterly  ven 
geance. 

Each  answer  of  my  husband's  was  worse 
than  the  last.  He  now  spread  out  three 
plump  envelopes  before  me.  "  For  you,"  he 
murmured,  still  between  set  teeth.  "  All 
from  migratory  songsters,  I  presume." 

One  was  from  a  young  woman  whom  I 
had  invited  to  Agawam,  and  to  whom,  when 
writing  to  explain  why  the  invitation  there 
must  be  cancelled,  I  had  felt  it  only  civil  to 
tell  something  of  our  new  plans.  Her  mis- 
[67] 


CHANTICLEER 


sive  was  a  delicately  worded  hint  to  the  effect 
that  the  wild  woods  seemed  even  more  allur 
ing  to  one  of  her  tastes  than  Agawam.  The 
other  two  were  from  commonplace  acquain 
tances  in  the  village  to  tell  me  that  they,  too, 
inspired  by  our  successful  experiment,  were 
to  begin  at  once  rustic  cottages  similar  to 
Judge  Elliott's  upon  land  purchased  from 
him,  the  very  ground  we  so  much  coveted. 

"  It  is  a  hideous  joke  of  some  sort,"  I  cried 
at  length.  "  No  one  ever  gets  so  many  let 
ters  in  one  post." 

"  When  they  have  had  no  mail  for  more 
than  a  month  they  do,"  Roger  said  with  dis 
couraging  brutality,  diving  into  another 
pocket,  and  pulling  out  a  half-dozen  or  so 
more.  "  Don't  be  alarmed,  Mary.  These 
are  all  harmless  business  letters  and  circu 
lars.  There  was  a  pile  of  papers  and  maga 
zines  that  I  could  not  bother  to  bring.  As 
nearly  as  I  can  make  out,  that  old  fool  means 
to  encourage  every  one  who  will  listen  to 
[68] 


CHANTICLEER 


come  here  with  him;  the  more  the  merrier 
principle." 

"  Which  old  fool  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  Judge,"  Roger  answered,  looking 
before  him  stolidly.  "  He  is  just  ass  enough 
to  start  a  Park." 

I  gave  a  stage  shriek.  If  I  had  known  how 
those  things  are  managed,  I  should  have 
fainted. 


[69] 


CHAPTER   V 

WHEN  we  heard  the  voices  of  our  ap 
proaching  guests,  and  the  banging  of  their 
luggage,  Roger  and  I  rushed  out  to  greet 
them.  "  I  wonder  if  I  can  remember  the 
correct,  hypocritical  twang  of  the  naughty 
world  ? "  I  had  asked  my  Mentor. 

"  Act  in  reverse  ratio  to  your  feelings," 
he  had  adjured. 

So  I  threw  myself  upon  Mrs.  Lyman's  am 
ple  figure,  aggressively  modish  in  a  new 
travelling  toilette.  She  returned  my  clasp 
in  that  familiar  scene  I  had  always  loathed. 
A  great  fat  robin  friend,  on  a  bough  above  us, 
looked  down  in  blank  disgust.  I  disentan 
gled  myself  as  best  I  might;  and  Mrs.  Ly- 
man,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  our  home,  asked, 
"  Where  is  your  house,  dear  ?  " 
[TO] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  If  you  are  not  careful  you  will  fall  over 
it,"  I  laughed. 

"  Oh,"  she  returned.  "  You  are  camp 
ing.  I  thought  you  were  living  here." 

"  We  are  living,  in  the  truest  sense,"  Roger 
said  sententiously. 

The  reproof  aroused  Mrs.  Lyman's  extrav 
agance.  She  is  always  what  my  husband 
calls  gushing,  and  now  that  she  had  amends 
to  make,  she  set  our  common-sense  flesh  to 
creeping.  "  Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  how  charming !  " 
she  cried,  following  us  inside  our  house. 
"  How  sweetly  simple !  Tell  the  men  where 
to  put  the  luggage,  George.  What  an  ex 
pansive  view !  They  would  better  unstrap 
them.  No,  not  there.  The  little  bag  on  top. 
Yes,  an  exquisite  outlook.  Unstrap  the 
others,  too."  Then,  looking  toward  me, 
"  Shall  I  put  my  hat  here,  dear  ?  " 

We  would  gladly  have  given  them  the  free 
dom  of  the  place,  but  they  preempted  it,  un 
bidden.  An  invalid  is  always  personality 
[71] 


CHANTICLEER 


italicised,  as  we  all  know,  and  Mrs.  Lyman 
herself  was  an  entity  in  capital  letters.  The 
double  presence  seemed  to  fill  our  house  to 
bursting  at  the  seams.  The  sick  man  en 
sconced  in  the  largest  chair,  with  his  medi 
cines  and  appurtenances,  the  wife's  fashion 
able  litter,  the  necessary  luggage,  were  so 
many  blotches  upon  the  serenity  of  our 
home. 

In  such  times  of  domestic  strain  the  over 
wrought  mind  usually  finds  some  triviality 
to  settle  upon  as  a  grievance.  It  seemed  to 
me  then  that  Mrs.  Lyman's  smart  hat  found 
a  dozen  new  resting-places  for  itself  in  as 
many  minutes.  I  sought  no  spot  that  it  was 
not  already  at  home  there.  When  I  had  gone 
to  the  spring-house  for  cream,  I  looked  up 
suddenly,  from  a  bending  posture,  to  see 
Roger  standing  over  me. 

His  first  words  were,  "  I  would  feed  that 
hat  to  the  cow  if  I  thought  she  would  eat 
it." 

[72] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Thank  you,  Roger,"  I  answered.  "  I 
shall  not  mind  so  much,  now  I  know  half 
the  burden  of  those  bows  is  on  your  soul.  I 
thought  mine  bore  it  all." 

The  spring-house  was  an  excavation  we 
had  made  near  the  larger  house,  in  a  mound 
above  a  flow  of  deliciously  cold  water,  in 
which  to  keep  our  few  perishable  stores. 
Roger  took  the  pitcher  of  cream  from  me, 
and  we  walked  back  under  the  majestic  trees 
to  the  clutter  and  the  garrulity  our  guests  had 
brought. 

After  the  simple  meal,  of  which  the  Ly- 
mans  ate  voraciously,  we  broached  the  sub 
ject  of,  not  our  usual  long  evening  tramp,  but 
a  short  ramble.  They  were  politely  aghast 
at  the  notion.  Mr.  Lyman  was  not  strong 
enough,  Mrs.  Lyman  was  too  tired  from  trav 
elling  —  that  lusty  woman  who  shook  our 
house  with  the  strength  of  her  deep  chest 
tones.  So  we  made  talk  to  them,  punctuated 
by  their  smothered  yawns,  and  we  watched 
[73] 


CHANTICLEER 


Mrs.  Lyman  carry  her  hat  into  her  bed 
room. 

She  was  to  occupy  my  quarters  with  me. 
I  know  she  broke  none  even  of  the  minor 
laws  of  the  most  approved  ethical  code.  But 
her  large  figure,  with  its  multitudinous  trap 
pings,  and  her  intemperate  vocabulary, 
seemed  to  crowd  me  out  of  my  very  bed.  I 
lifted  into  the  upper  berth  my  attenuated 
figure  that  felt  as  if  it  were  shrinking  as  fast 
as  Alice  when  she  drank  of  the  bottle  on  the 
little  glass  table.  Mrs.  Lyman  spread  her 
self  out  in  the  lower  bunk  broadly,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  refresh  her  rich  vital  existence. 
I  cannot  accuse  her  of  anything  so  vulgar  as 
snoring,  but  she  was  soon  very  much  asleep 
in  her  elaborate  nightgown. 

It  was  too  dark  a  night  for  me  distinctly 
to  see  the  disorder  her  finery  had  wrought  in 
my  spotless  room,  but  I  was  so  conscious  of 
it  all,  and  of  her  personality  beneath  me,  that 
I  was  stifled.  I  thought  the  feeling  would 


CHANTICLEER 


pass,  but  it  did  not.  With  increased  longing 
the  thought  of  out-of-doors  lured  me.  I 
struggled  with  the  temptation  long  and  val 
iantly,  then,  just  at  the  point  where 
Lymanism  seemed  to  have  smothered  my 
consciousness,  I  was  briefly  resuscitated  by 
a  soft  swishing  sound.  It  was  my  guest's 
hat  falling  from  its  hook  behind  the  cur 
tains.  That  trifle  decided  me. 

I  swung  myself  guiltily  down  from  my 
perch  over  her  somnolent  body,  stealthily  I 
threw  on  a  few  garments,  and,  for  fear  of 
arousing  some  member  of  the  household  by 
the  creaking  of  a  door,  I  climbed  softly  out 
of  the  open  window.  It  was  a  long,  laborious 
process,  for  one  not  used  to  housebreaking. 
•But  once  my  feet  touched  the  soft  earth,  they 
seemed  winged. 

Oh,  the  ecstasy  of  that  initial  moment  of 
freedom.  It  is  comparable  to  nothing  but 
the  first  kiss  of  love,  though  that,  too,  is  puer 
ile  when  this  thought  lies  next  it.  Every  star 
[75] 


CHANTICLEER 


in  the  black  vault  above  gave  me  a  dis 
tinct  benediction.  It  was  quite  still,  except 
for  the  furtive  movement  now  and  then  of 
some  soft-footed  creature  of  the  night,  and 
the  gay  tinkle  of  the  Vosenkill.  There  was 
no  moon,  and  despite  the  stars  it  was  very 
dark  under  the  trees  and  the  tall  shrubbery. 
But  healing  abounded.  That  potent  touch 
wiped  from  my  Soul  the  scars  of  Mrs.  Ly- 
man's  bouffant  petticoats  and  her  squirming 
wire  bustle. 

My  beating  pulses  led  me  on,  on  whither 
I  knew  not,  and  neither  did  I  care.  We 
were  merely  plunging  into  space,  my  hot 
temples  and  I,  until  the  first  impatience  was 
cooled,  and  then  I  began  to  move  more  slowly ; 
almost  like  floating,  it  seemed,  it  was  so  en 
tirely  without  conscious  volition,  until  a 
long-time  dawning  terror  burst  positively 
upon  me.  I  had  been  hearing  behind  me 
footsteps  which  I,  at  first,  set  down  to  some 
forest  friend.  I  knew  no  evil  creature  lurked 
[76] 


CHANTICLEER 


there,  and  the  regularly  occurring  pitapat 
had  lessened  my  sense  of  isolation  before  it 
had  corne  near  enough  to  seem  heavy  and 
human.  I  began  to  realise  that  I  was  a  long 
distance  from  my  home  when  I  turned 
toward  a  more  open  space  among  the  dog 
woods  and  hurried  away  from  the  Vosenkill. 
The  footsteps  turned  too,  stumbling,  as  I 
had  done,  over  one  spot  of  tangled  under 
growth.  Definite  fear  smote  me  suddenly. 
I  had  never  known  it  there  before.  We  were 
altogether  too  remote  for  tramp  progresses; 
the  red  man  is  not  of  the  east,  nor  have  I 
faith  in  ghosts.  Still  It  was  gaining  upon 
me.  Rapidly,  with  steady  paces,  something 
was  coming  toward  me  at  midnight,  in  the 
black  woods.  I  was  a  trembling,  nursery 
child  .again,  frozen  in  white  horror  to  the 
spot  where  I  stood.  Unwise  thoughts  scudded 
through  my  brain  of  an  escaped  lunatic,  a 
criminal  fleeing  from  justice.  In  that  place 
it  must  be  something  altogether  unusual. 
[77] 


CHANTICLEER 


The  awful  eeriness  of  mystery  touched  the 
fact.  I  think  I  could  have  stood  the  cer 
tainty  of  any  number  of  simple  highwaymen 
—  but  this  ! 

The  footsteps  veered  a  little  to  the  right. 
I  had  time  to  slip  off  sidewise,  but  I  could 
not  stir.  There  was  no  need  to  hold  my 
breath.  There  was  none  to  hold.  Then  my 
alert  ears  registered  a  more  easterly  course. 
But  suddenly  there  was  a  dead  stop.  It 
turned  and  crept  toward  me  with  outstretched 
arms.  I  could  begin  to  see  an  indistinct  out 
line  of  what  was  unmistakably  a  man.  He 
was  feeling  his  way  cautiously,  for  he  had 
inadvertently  stepped  down  into  a  matted 
thicket  of  bushes. 

I  might  have  moved  off  easily  now  on  the 
other  side  of  a  great  rock  if  my  feet  had  not 
been  dead.  But  I  was  far  past  lifting  a 
member.  I  waited.  It  came  on.  Then  one 
of  the  exploring  hands  struck  against  me. 
The  man  shrieked  —  not  I.  I  waited.  The 
[78] 


CHANTICLEER 


hand  moved  about  wildly,  aimlessly,  before 
it  could  catch  hold  of  me  again.  There  was 
another  exclamation  —  from  the  man.  An 
eager  touch  ran  over  my  person. 

A  match  was  struck.  By  the  instant  flash 
we  looked  into  each  other's  faces  —  Roger 
and  I. 

"  Why,  Mary,"  he  cried.  "  What  are  you 
doing  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  wailed,  falling  against  him 
limply.  "  The  house  was  so  full  of  those 
people  I  could  not  bear  it." 

"  Nor  I  !  "  he  returned  fervently. 

We  exchanged  our  motives,  which  were 
identical,  for  actions  which  were  identical, 
except  that  one  had  been  pursuer  and  the 
other  pursued. 

Then  we  sat  down  on  a  neighbouring  rock, 
and  talked  over  our  position,  which  at  that 
hour  seemed  quite  desperate. 

"  There    is    not    room    in    the    house,"    I 
sighed,  "  for  us  and  Mrs.  Lyman's  hat." 
[79] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  I  know  it/'  he  said.  "  But  what  can  we 
do  ?  I  do  not  want  to  kill  Lyman.  He  is 
too  weak." 

"  Don't  make  grim  jokes/'  I  groaned.  "  I 
am  very  serious." 

Roger  laid  his  hand  on  mine.  "  It  is  se 
rious/'  he  said.  "  I  have  been  thinking, 
Molly,  would  it  be  too  pointed  if  we  camped 
for  the  rest  of  their  stay,  in  the  cow-shed  ?  " 

I  could  only  shake  my  head. 


[80] 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  Lymans  remained  with  us  for  nearly 
a  week,  so  complicated  were  their  plans  for 
camp  building.  First  and  last,  a  score  of 
workmen  must  have  been  necessary  to  their 
arrangements.  There  were  numerous  delays 
in  the  arrival  of  the  various  helps  to  com 
fort.  We  seemed  to  do  nothing  during  those 
days  but  to  walk  back  and  forth  from  our 
home  to  their  camping  ground,  to  watch 
the  lack  of  progress. 

A  large  waterproof  tent  with  a  solid  wood 
floor  was  set  up  for  general  purposes,  a 
smaller  one  for  sleeping,  and  a  remote  shanty 
built  for  cooking.  Huge  boxes  filled  with 
ranges,  oil-  and  alcohol-  and  charcoal-,  elab 
orately  furnished  cots,  wicker  chairs,  rugs, 
[81] 


CHANTICLEER 


crockery,  bath  tubs,  canned  edibles,  sacks 
of  coffee,  chests  of  tea,  chafing  dishes,  arrived 
daily. 

Then  the  Endersons  came  with  equal  in 
tricacies,  and,  while  our  senses  were  still 
buzzing  from  all  this  hurly-burly,  hammers 
began  upon  the  rustic  cottages  of  the  Elliott 
settlement.  Henceforth  eager  solicitations 
called  us  in  an  opposite  direction. 

What  had  we  done  to  fate  to  deserve  all 
this  ?  Before  our  eyes  "  cabins  "  arose, 
fashioned  of  pine  logs  with  the  bark  left  on, 
encircled  by  piazzas  balustraded  with  laced 
boughs.  And  we  were  made  to  enter  these 
evil  tilings,  to  confront  rustic  grills  and 
gnarled  knots  that  we  were  told  resembled 
buffalo  heads,  and  decorative  effects  in  which 
figured  the  grey  squirrels  whose  little  lives 
we  valued,  stuffed  to  bursting  in  their  dead 
stiffness,  and  similar  owls,  with  now  and  then 
a  deer's  head  or  antlers  to  lend  a  supposed 
touch  of  nature  to  a  spot  where  no  deer  are 
[82] 


CHANTICLEER 


to  be  found.  When  the  coloured  posters,  and 
the  birch-bark  ornaments,  the  Japanese  lan 
terns,  pine  cone  and  rope  tassel  touches  were 
added,  we  should  have  smitten  our  breasts  if 
we  had  had  spirit  left. 

Then  people  to  match  the  houses  came 
to  the  settlement,  and  down  in  the  Lymans' 
camp  a  sister,  more  garrulous,  more  gush 
ing,  than  the  lady  already  established  there. 

One  of  the  mysteries  of  my  day  and  gen 
eration  is  the  modern  young  girl.  I  find 
her  in  two  distinct  types:  the  athletic,  self- 
reliant,  unsentimental  college  graduate,  and 
the  advanced  kindergarten  species,  roman 
tic,  soft,  ingenuously  timid.  Mrs.  Lyman's 
sister  belonged  to  this  latter  family. 

This  was  perhaps  not  an  auspicious  mo 
ment  for  Maurice  to  choose  for  his  visit 
to  us.  But  it  is  the  one  he  did  select.  I  do 
not  want,  however,  to  think  that  outside 
conditions  had  anything  to  do  with  the  sit 
uation,  nor  the  fact  that  we  had  some  old 
[83] 


CHANTICLEER 


scores  to  settle.  It  was  perhaps  merely  that 
we  were  in  our  element,  now.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  he  came  to  us  one  lovely  summer  evening, 
looking  and  appearing  almost  as  foreign  as 
the  Lymans  had  done. 

An  epitome  of  our  position  lay  in  Roger's 
remark,  "  If  we  had  not  had  this  recent 
intercourse  with  the  cottagers,  I  think  I 
should  have  to  talk  to  Maurice  upon  my 
fingers." 

"  He  would  not  have  come,  if  he  had 
dreamed  it  was  all  so  primitive,"  I  laughed. 
"  Did  you  notice  that,  after  one  wearing, 
the  duck  trousers  went  back,  like  a  bear 
when  he  sees  his  shadow  ?  " 

Roger  looked  reflective.  "  We  dress  de 
cently,  do  we  not,  Mary  ?  I  thought  so,  but 
why  do  these  outsiders  look  so  different  ?  " 

We  both  wore  plain,  convenient,  well- 
made  pedestrian  suits,  but  they  were  those  of 
all  time,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  late 
mode  which,  after  only  a  few  months'  isola- 
[84] 


CHANTICLEER 


tion,  looked  as  oddly  to  us  as  if  we  were  pre 
historic  creatures. 

If  our  life  was  written  in  a  foreign 
tongue  for  Maurice,  I  will  say  this  for  him 
that  he  tried  desperately  to  translate  it.  It 
was  almost  pathetic  to  note  the  earnest  way 
in  which  he  watched  Roger,  and  his  boyish 
imitation  of  whatever  he  could  master. 

When  he  had  been  with  us  two  days  — • 
but  first  I  must  explain  that  Judge  Elliott 
had  just  left  me  after  gaining  my  advice 
upon  the  finishing  of  the  side  walls  in  his 
cottage's  chief  room,  "  Should  he  use  Japa 
nese  matting  or  denim  ? "  And  I  had 
stained  my  soul  with  the  suggestion  of 
crimson  burlaps.  When  he  had  gone  away, 
I  said  to  Maurice :  — 

"  Will  you  take  this  pail  and  milk  for  us  ? 
Roger  is  hoeing  beans." 

There  are  single  moments  that  make  rich 
amends  for  years  of  suffering.     This  youth 
had  coldly  criticised  me  in  the  past. 
[85] 


CHANTICLEER 


"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mary?" 

"  That  pail  —  take  it,  please,  and  do 
the  milking,"  I  answered  as  lightly  as  if 
asking  him  to  bring  me  a  chair. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  you," 
he  hesitated. 

I  repeated  my  request.  There  was  a 
long  pause.  Then :  — 

"  I  can't,  Mary,"  in  low  tones  of  despera 
tion.  "  I  do  not  know  how." 

But  I  was  fetching  my  hat.  "  I  can 
quickly  show  you,"  I  persisted. 

He  dumbly  followed  me  out  into  the  foot 
path,  the  pail  grasped  lightly.  It  was  out 
rageous  desecration.  I  felt  as  guilty  as  if  I 
had  thrust  a  coal-scuttle  into  the  hand  of 
the  Apollo  Belvedere.  But  I  tripped  along 
by  his  side  with  an  appearance  of  gay  un 
consciousness. 

When    we    reached    the    stable    Maurice 
quickly  set  down  the  pail,  and  I  as  quickly 
brought  him  the  little  stool. 
[86] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  What  is  this  for  ?  "  he  asked,  allowing 
it  to  hang  heavily  in  his  hand. 

"  For  you  to  sit  on,"  I  answered. 

"  Sit  on  ?  "  he  said.     "  Sit  where  ?  " 

"  By  the  cow,"  I  returned. 

He  brought  to  bear  upon  me  eyes  of  stern 
reproof.  "  Mary,  wliy  should  I  sit  by  a 
cow?" 

"  My  dear  boy,"  I  expostulated,  "  how 
else  could  you  milk  ?  " 

I  saw  Daisy  had  not  come  up  from  the 
pasture  yet,  but  I  was  not  ready  to  let  him 
off.  So  we  stood  looking  polite  defiance  at 
each  other  until  Roger's  cheerful  whistle 
broke  in  upon  us. 

"  Why,"  he  cried,  "  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?  "  as  he  made  way  for  Daisy  to  pass  in. 

"  Maurice  has  come  to  milk  for  you, 
dear,"  I  answered  demurely. 

He  grasped  the  situation  instantly. 
"  Good  !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  you  are  working 
into  the  life  admirably.  It  is  a  pleasure  to 
[87] 


£8  CHANTICLEER  88$ 

find  you  so  adaptable."  Then  something  in 
the  wretched  fellow's  face  —  he  was  such  a 
boy,  after  all  —  must  have  smote  iny  hus 
band's  kindly  heart,  for  he  added:  "But 
I  cannot  be  cheated  of  this  pleasure,  even 
by  my  brother,  and  a  guest.  You  can  watch 
me  milk,  though,  if  you  want  to,  Maurice." 

"  Very  well,"  that  young  man  said  weakly. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  satin  sides  ? " 
Roger  went  on,  seating  himself  with  easy 
grace  on  the  little  stool.  The  streams  of 
white  milk  playing  from  his  finely  modelled 
hands  are  a  charming  sight,  but  Maurice 
was  staring  about  the  shed  as  if  that  were 
the  last  place  to  find  satin. 

"  Where  are  you  looking  ? "  Roger 
laughed.  "  I  mean  the  cow's  back." 

Maurice  glanced  in  that  direction.  "  Oh, 
the  cow,"  he  said,  drawing  away  ever  so  little. 

"  Remove  that  princely  scion  of  a  royal 
house,"  Roger  burlesqued. 

"  Come,  Maurice,"  I  interposed,  in  pal- 
[88] 


CHANTICLEER 


liation.      "  I  want  to  show  you  the  sunset 
from  the  observatory." 

He  gave  me  his  arm  with  alacrity,  and 
we  bounded  northward. 

I  do  not  think  Maurice  cares  much  for 
any  phase  of  nature,  and  we  had  not  more 
than  established  ourselves  upon  the  hardly 
reached  elevation  when  his  restless  eyes 
looked  off  down  the  evergreen  avenue  rap 
turously.  "  Look,"  he  cried  ;  "  what  a 
lovely  girl  !  Who  is  she  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lyman  and  her  sister  were  saunter 
ing  into  our  range  of  vision.  The  feminine 
relatives  of  good-looking,  eligible  young  fel 
lows  always  think,  despite  denials,  that  they 
have  but  to  pick  and  choose  among  woman 
kind.  This  was  Maurice's  moment  of  speedy 
revenge  for  the  milking  episode,  if  he  had 
but  known  it.  I  looked  with  painful  fore 
boding  from  his  handsome,  flushed  face 
down  upon  the  lackadaisical  figure  of  Agnes 
Birdsell. 

[89] 


CHANTICLEER 


She  was  the  conventional  poetic,  rustic 
maiden,  in  white  muslin  and  blue  ribbons. 
In  her  hand  she  held  a  nosegay  of  blossoms, 
just  beginning  to  close.  The  first  words  I 
heard  her  say  were  :  "  I  did  not  know,  sister, 
that  these  dear  little  flowers  went  to  sleep  at 
night  with  the  birds." 

A  privilege  of  our  condition  was  the  ease 
with  which  one  could  be  not  at  home  to  un 
welcome  visitors.  Given  a  back  door  and 
acres  of  dense  woodland,  what  need  of  a  pre 
varicating  servant? 

However,  I  realised  now  that  Maurice 
was  very  much  at  home.  He  assisted  me 
with  perilous  haste  in  our  descent  from  the 
observatory.  Mrs.  Lyman  and  Miss  Bird- 
sell  fluttered  forward  to  meet  us,  or  me, 
rather.  They  acted  as  much  surprised  at 
seeing  Maurice  as  if  they  had  not  been  told 
the  exact  hour  when  he  was  expected. 

Mrs.  Lyman  and  I  fell  into  step,  the 
young  people  following  us.  My  companion 
[90] 


CHANTICLEER 


asked  me  in  her  lowest  chest  tones,  if  I 
did  not  think  Agnes  looked  like  a  moonbeam 
in  her  white  drapery.  "  Very  much,"  I  an 
swered  with  beating  heart.  The  fib  startled 
me,  I  had  grown  so  used  to  honesty  in  those 
few  weeks. 

Agnes  was  asking  Maurice  if  he  did  not 
like  the  poetical  life  of  the  woods,  and  he 
was  answering  as  I  had  done,  and  with  equal 
truth,  "  Very  much." 

Then  she  told  him  of  a  little  bird  with  a 
broken  leg  she  had  found  that  day,  and  of 
how  she  was  tending  it.  Her  voice  was 
tremulous,  her  gestures  tragic.  "  Which 
do  you  love  best,  birds  or  squirrels  ?  "  she 
asked. 

Maurice  had  no  notion.  He  had  "  never 
thought  upon  the  subject." 

"  Stop  and  consider,"  she  cooed  with 
honeyed  imperativeness.  "  The  gay,  chat 
tering  squirrels  amuse  us  with  their  antics, 
to  be  sure,  when  we  see  them.  But  it  is 
[91] 


CHANTICLEER 


the  songsters  that  cheer  from  far  and  near. 
Who  would  give  for  all  the  squirrels  one  of 
our  dear  sweet-voiced  nightingales  ?  " 

Maurice  believed,  on  the  whole,  he  did 
care  most  for  birds.  I  longed  to  ex 
pose  her  about  the  nightingales,  but  I  was 
saving  to  myself  that  the  remark  would  do 
its  own  restorative  work.  Maurice  must  be 
safe.  Then  that  pretty  girl  slipped  on  a 
patch  of  dead  leaves,  and  would  have  fallen 
had  not  my  brother  caught  her.  We  older 
ones  turned  at  the  liquid  cry  of  alarm  upon 
a  tableau  of  youthful  loveliness.  "  Beauti 
ful,  beautiful,  beautiful,"  anxiety  chanted 
in  my  ears. 

Miss  Birdsell's  usual  boast  of  sure-footed- 
ness  was  void,  that  evening,  for  she  slipped 
again  before  we  reached  the  house. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  saw  Roger's  retreat 

ing  figure,  or  even  its  shadow,  but  there  was 

some  sort  of  stir  that  told  me  he  had  guessed 

our  approach,  and  was  escaping.     Maurice 

[92] 


&%  CHANTICLEER  86« 

brought  easy-chairs  and  a  pile  of  cushions, 
and  we  made  ourselves  comfortable  on  the 
boulder  before  our  house  that  Mrs.  Lyman 
prefers  to  call  our  piazza.  And  then  we 
talked,  or,  rather,  our  guests  talked  of  art: 
books  and  music  and  pictures.  May  the 
god  of  genius,  in  remembrance  of  my  suf 
ferings,  forgive  the  black  falsehoods  I  told 
in  polite  acquiescence !  It  is  strange  that 
weak  conventionality  should  like  so  well  to 
ape  individuality,  but  the  roles  of  these  two 
were  strongly  reminiscent  of  other  and  un- 
happier  days. 

"  I  suppose  my  taste  is  rather  odd,"  Mrs. 
Lyman  reiterated,  while  she  commended 
all  the  novels  that  had  sold  in  hundreds  of 
thousands,  and  the  poetic  crazes  of  the 
last  decade  —  Kipling's  "  Recessional  "  and 
"  The  Man  with  the  Hoe." 

"  I  love  all  the  works  of  Omar  Khayyam," 
Agnes  threw  in  for  good  measure.  I  glanced 
involuntarily  at  Maurice,  but  he  reads  little 
[93] 


CHANTICLEER 


except  medical  literature.  lie  was  smiling 
approval  of  the  graceful  figure  leaning  back 
against  the  old  pine  in  a  charming  atti 
tude.  It  fairly  made  my  teeth  chatter  to 
see  her  so  bewitching.  I  had  a  wild  feeling 
as  if  I  should  take  my  brother  by  the  hand 
and  plunge  off  with  him  into  the  forest,  not 
to  return  until  the  last  remnant  of  insidi 
ous  temptation  was  gone. 

Presently  Mrs.  Lyman  said,  "  Well, 
little  moonbeam,  we  shall  be  afraid  of  those 
dark  woods  if  we  linger  too  long." 

Whereat  Maurice  adjured  them  to  forget 
that  such  things  were;  he  should  enjoy 
nothing  so  much  as  the  walk  to  their  camp 
on  that  lovely  evening.  Our  guests  settled 
back,  with  that  air  of  finality  some  women 
have,  that  mocked  me  with  utter  hopeless 
ness. 

Here  Agnes  turned  to  me  suddenly  with 
ravishing  earnestness  to  ask :      "  Which   do 
you  care  for  most,  Plato  or  Petrarch  ?  " 
[94] 


&J3  CHANTICLEER  88 

I  stared  aghast  for  a  moment  before  I 
murmured  desperately,  "  They  are  so  very 
different !  " 

She  smiled  indulgently,  and  so  did 
Maurice,  as  if,  as  he  would  phrase  it,  she 
had  me. 

Roger  saved  the  situation.  He  emerged 
just  then,  all  surprise  and  satisfaction,  but 
the  dear  fellow  was  so  out  of  practice  that 
it  was  not  ten  minutes  before  he  showed  that 
he  had  known  of  the  arrival.  I  was 
startled.  However,  such  women  see  nothing 
but  compliments.  Mrs.  Lyman  said  to  him 
with  accented  intensity :  "  I  want  to  thank 
you  for  sending  those  delicious  squabs  to 
Mr.  Lyman."  When  he  disclaimed  the 
favour,  she  insisted,  "  Oh,  I  don't  mean  the 
birds.  It  was  the  affection  that  I  value.  I 
have  always  felt  that  there  was  a  peculiarly 
strong  bond  between  you  two." 

Roger  winced.  There  could  hardly  be  a 
less  congenial  pair  than  himself  and  George 
[95] 


CHANTICLEER 


Lyman.  He  did  not  know  what  to  say, 
apparently,  but  nothing  was  necessary. 
Mrs.  Lyman  kept  up  the  incessant  refrain. 
"  It  was  so  very  sweet  of  you ;  so  very 
sweet !  " 

It  is  darkest  before  dawn.  After  this 
our  guests  bade  us  good-bye.  Roger  thought 
Maurice  could  hardly  find  his  way  back 
from  our  neighbours'  camp  at  night,  so  we 
joined  the  party  of  escort. 

Naturally  the  young  people  started  off  to 
gether,  Agnes  at  a  coy  distance  from  Mau 
rice,  except  in  the  very  frequent  intervals  of 
dangerous  walking.  Then  with  what  sweet 
appealing  timidity  she  clung  to  his  hand  or 
his  arm.  I  felt  grim  and  worldly-wise, 
stalking  along,  trying  to  give  cordial  acqui 
escence  to  Mrs.  Lyman's  prattle.  When  we 
reached  the  camp,  Mr.  Lyman  on  one  side, 
Mrs.  Lyman  on  the  other,  squeezed  my  poor 
husband  in  a  vise  of  gratitude.  Agnes 
slipped  into  the  tent  and  ostentatiously 
[96] 


CHANTICLEER 


nursed  her  wounded  bird  in  the  glare  of  a 
great  lantern.  She  did  make  a  lovely  pic 
ture  of  the  sentimental  type,  one  which 
Maurice  and  I,  standing  a  little  apart, 
watched  with  quite  different  emotions. 

"  Look  there,  Mary,"  he  said  with  boyish 
ardour;  "  did  you  ever  see  a  more  exquisite 
tableau  ?  " 

He  lingered  drinking  in  the  scene  to  the 
very  last  moment,  not  even  noticing  Roger 
hurrying  breathlessly  toward  us.  My  poor 
husband  looked  old  and  battered.  "  What  is 
it,  dear  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Those  blasted  squabs,"  he  groaned. 


[97] 


CHAPTEK  VII 

OF  course  Miss  Birdsell  left  something 
for  Maurice  to  return  to  her.  It  was  a  fan, 
and  our  brother  proposed  transporting  it  to 
its  owner  early  the  next  morning  after  the 
visit. 

"  There  is  no  haste,"  I  urged  weakly,  in 
full  consciousness  of  the  futility  of  protest. 
"  She  probably  has  dozens  of  them  down 
there.  They  have  everything  in  that  camp." 

"  Electric  fans,  I  imagine,"  Roger  added. 

But  Maurice  was  quite  determined.  If 
Miss  Birdsell  had  been  somewhat  plainer, 
I  should  have  set  his  obduracy  down  to  the 
account  of  an  idle  young  man  craving 
variety.  As  it  was,  each  glance  at  his  watch 
magnified  my  foreboding.  We  breakfast  so 
[98] 


CHANTICLEER 


early  that  he  was  obliged  to  restrain  his  impa 
tience  for  some  time,  which  he  spent  pacing 
about  out-of-doors,  smoking.  Whenever  I 
looked  out  to  see  if  he  had  gone,  he  had  his 
watch  in  his  hand.  I  only  did  so  twice,  but 
I  naturally  supposed  that  I  had  not  inter 
cepted  every  glance  at  that  hateful  timepiece. 

When  he  really  started  away  I  asked  of 
my  husband :  "  Do  you  think  he  will  marry 
her  ?  Or,  it  is  foolish  to  phrase  it  in  that 
form  —  he  will  marry  her." 

"  My  wife  used  always  to  bid  me  say, 
Will  she  marry  him  ?  in  speaking  of  other 
people's  brothers,"  Roger  answered. 

I  patted  his  dear  bronzed  cheek.  "  But 
who  wouldn't  marry  Maurice  ? "  I  said, 
"  unless  she  were  the  wife  of  Roger." 

My  husband  took  the  hand  that  caressed 
him  into  his  strong  clasp.  "  He  is  good- 
looking,  and  he  is  an  infant  phenomenon  in 
his  profession.  I  fear  —  I  fear,  Molly, 
darling!  The  boy  is  certainly  done  for." 
[99] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said.  "  He  stated  this  morn 
ing  that  there  is  not  a  flaw  in  her  beauty, 
which  is  unfortunately  true.  By  to-morrow 
he  will  not  be  able  to  speak  of  her  so  defi 
nitely." 

"  Don't  I  know  the  ambiguity  of  that 
second  stage  ?  "  Roger  laughed.  "  But  she 
is  a  sweet,  pretty  girl.  It  might  be  much 
worse." 

"  Folly  is  the  very  worst  fault,"  I  per 
sisted,  "  of  her  sort  —  sentimental  mawkish- 
ness." 

"  But  think  what  a  child  she  is.  She  may 
outgrow  all  that." 

I  shook  my  head.  "  If  she  were  not  Mrs. 
Lyman's  sister.  But  it  is  in  the  blood.  No. 
We  must  make  up  our  minds  to  living  in  a 
cold  perspiration  for  the  rest  of  our  days." 

He  called  me  pessimistic.     Still,  I  noticed 

that  he  was  too  disturbed  to  settle  down  to 

his  writing.     At  such  moments  he  goes  out 

to  work  in  the  garden.     I  took  a  basket,  and, 

[100] 


CHANTICLEER 


putting  on  a  large  shade  hat,  followed  him. 
My  destination  was  the  patch  of  peas,  and 
my  intention  to  pick  some  of  them  for 
luncheon. 

As  I  passed  Roger,  weeding  the  beet  bed, 
I  stopped  to  exclaim,  "  Dear,  golden-hearted 
fellow!  What  strong,  muscular  arms,  and 
yet  how  perfectly  modelled!  A  very  god 
among  men." 

He  jumped  up  and  caught  me  in  his 
arms.  "  Oh,  you  malicious  woman,"  he 
cried,  "  to  imitate  your  neighbours !  " 

"  You  malicious  man,"  I  returned,  "  to 
see  an  imitation.  Where  are  the  quotation 
marks,  pray  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  gravely  for  a  moment. 
"  It  is  better  than  if  she  wanted  to  vote, 
isn't  it,  Molly?" 

"  It  is  not  better  than  if  she  wanted  to 
do  anything,"  I  returned,  walking  away. 
"  And  that  is  rather  comprehensive,  too." 

Picking  peas  somewhat  restored  my  men- 
[101] 


CHANTICLEER 


tal  balance.  I  love  to  feel  the  cool  pods  in 
my  hands,  and  to  watch  the  fresh  green  of 
the  growing  pile.  With  every  handful  of 
smooth  plumpness  there  arose  in  me  a  de 
lightful  sense  of  ownership.  We  had 
planted  and  tended,  and  now  I  was  gath 
ering  these  graceful,  hanging  bits  of  God's 
bounty. 

I  liked  almost  as  much  to  shell  them,  sit 
ting  under  the  pine  tree.  It  is  a  simple 
joy  to  dive  into  the  long  pods  for  the  tiny 
toothsome  green  balls.  The  odour  is  deli 
cious,  too,  when  they  are  cooking,  just  be 
fore  the  rich  cream  is  thrown  over  them. 
We  were  to  enjoy  them  on  this  day  with 
fricasseed  chicken.  A  frugal  meal  though 
it  was  in  variety,  it  was  epicurean  in  quality, 
and  still  that  brother-in-law  did  not  return 
for  it.  I  waited  until  there  was  danger  of 
overcooking,  and  then  I  went  to  call  Roger. 

When  he  is  near  enough  for  the  voice  to 
carry,  I  say  from  the  door  of  our  home, 
[102] 


$93  CHANTICLEER  %& 

Roger  standing,  hat  in  hand :  "  '  The  earth 
is  God's,  and  the  fulness  thereof.' ' 

It  is  our  only  grace  before  meat,  and  it 
is  very  impressive. 

But  what  does  it  matter  that  the  feast  is 
fit  for  the  gods,  when  one's  eyes  are  upon 
the  clock  ?  Every  pea  I  ate  seemed  like  an 
egg  in  my  throat,  and,  after  we  had  quite 
finished  the  meal,  there  was  still  no  Maurice. 

I  took  a  book  to  our  favourite  rock  that  af 
ternoon,  but  it  was  not  to  read.  Roger,  who 
had  protested  that  he  must  write  for  three 

hours  and  a  half,  come  what  would,  slipped 

i 
out  to  me  in  ten  minutes  to  ask  if  I  thought 

anything  could  have  happened  to  Maurice. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  sadly,  "  but  he  does  not 
care  for  your  aid." 

Every  half-hour  after  that  he  appeared, 
with  like  inquiries,  until  Maurice's  whistle 
was  heard  in  the  distance.  The  tune  was  a 
sentimental  melody  that  was  an  old  favourite 
of  his,  but  to-day  it  sounded  like  a  knell  in 
[103] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  8& 

my  ears.  Roger,  someway,  got  into  the 
house  and  was  busily  writing  when  his 
brother  arrived.  But  I  was  not  so  bored  as 
I  had  expected.  Perhaps  I  was  a  little  dis 
appointed.  At  any  rate  Maurice  had  only 
come  home  to  dress.  He  was  invited,  with 
the  Lyman  contingent,  to  the  Endersons' 
camp  for  tea. 

When  he  had  gone  again  I  went  in  to 
Roger,  little  as  he  deserved  information. 
"  See  here,"  I  said,  laying  on  the  desk  before 
him  a  pencil  sketch  of  the  lower  Vosenkill,  so 
out  of  drawing  as  to  make  him  scream  out, 
as  if  I  had  inflicted  a  blow.  "  Maurice 
wants  me  to  preserve  it  very  carefully  for 
him,"  I  explained. 

"  Who  did  it  ?  "  Roger  asked. 

"  Is  there  more  than  one  person  who 
would  gravely  execute  that,  and  afterward 
present  it  to  a  young  man  with  two  sound 
eyes  in  his  head  ?  " 

"  You  are  too  severe,  Molly,"  my  hus- 
[104] 


CHANTICLEER 


band  returned.  "  Maurice  must  have  done 
it  himself  —  in  jest." 

"  Eoger,"  I  declaimed,  "  this  is  the  first 
time  I  have  ever  felt  like  getting  a  divorce. 
But  then  you  did  not  see  the  nauseating 
expression  of  his  face.  So  clasp  me  to  your 
bosom,  as  if  the  fat  hills  and  the  lean  creek 
were  not." 

"  Did  he  —  did  he  —  was  he  garrulous  ?  " 
Eoger  asked. 

I  shook  my  head.  "Another  evil  mile 
stone  is  passed.  The  ambiguous  point  is 
reached.  He  told  me  the  sketch  l  was  given 
to  him.'  " 

Eoger  groaned. 


[  105  ] 


CHAPTER   VIII 

ON  the  very  night  of  Maurice's  meeting 
with  Miss  Birdsell,  I  had  despatched  an 
urgent  note  of  invitation  to  Margaret  Robert 
son.  What  more  effectual  antidote  could 
possibly  be  thought  of  than  her  gay  clever 
ness  ?  I  waited,  and  so  did  Roger,  in  fever 
ish  impatience,  for  her  reply. 

In  the  meantime  our  neighbours  again  vis 
ited  us,  and  Miss  Birdsell  left  a  gossamer 
handkerchief  behind  her.  I  was  the  finder 
of  this  hostage  of  fortune,  and  I  wantonly 
turned  it  into  a  hostage  to  misfortune,  send 
ing  Roger  home  with  it  the  next  day.  How 
ever,  no  shrewdness  can  outwit  that  type  of 
our  fellow-man.  My  husband's  report  was 
that  Mrs.  Lyman  had  called  her  sister  "  a 
[106] 


CHANTICLEER 


careless  little  thing,"  then  she  boldly  told 
him  to  ask  Maurice  to  join  them  that  evening 
at  whist. 

"  Whist  at  the  Vosenkill  !  Poker  in  Para 
dise  !  "  I  sneered.  It  was  my  only  revenge. 
But  what  did  it  avail,  except  to  make  me 
feel  ashamed,  while  the  Lymans  captured 
Maurice  ? 

As  speedily  as  an  answer  could  arrive  from 
Miss  Robertson,  one  did  so.  The  farmer's 
son,  who  was  to  bring  in  our  mail  to  us,  once 
a  day,  through  the  remainder  of  the  proof 
reading  season,  handed  me  a  note  in  her 
strong,  firm  chirography,  just  as  we  were 
sitting  down  to  our  supper.  I  read  the  mes 
sage  aloud.  After  I  had  finished  it,  Roger 
exclaimed,  writh  his  eyes  on  Maurice  :  — 

"  Coming  to-morrow  ?  How  opportune  ! 
She  will  be  here  to  help  us  wash  the  floor." 

There  was  a  little  pause.  I  was  putting 
the  letter  back  into  its  envelope.  Maurice 
was  staring  at  his  brother.  Presently  he 
[107] 


CHANTICLEER 


broke  into  a  gay  peal  of  boyish  laughter. 
"  What  do  you  suppose  I  thought  you  said, 
Roger  ?  That  Miss  Robertson  could  help 
you  wash  the  floor." 

"  I  did/'  Roger  answered. 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  faces 
for  a  long  minute  silently.  Then  Maurice, 
very  red,  whispered,  "  Oh !  " 

"  My  dear  brother,"  I  interposed,  "  Roger 
has  just  come  to  that  state  of  grace  when  he 
can  scrub  without  cringing.  He  used  to 
trample  down  his  pride,  before  every  at 
tempt,  with  the  spirited  account  in  '  Walden  ' 
of  the  floor-scouring.  He  read  it  over  and 
over,  as  if  it  were  a  recipe  for  humility. 
Then  he  would  shake  his  head  and  say, 
1  Thoreau  could  do  it.  'But  we  are  not  great 
enough  to  make  it  anything  but  squalid.'  ' 

"  You  have  an  excellent  memory  for  de 
tails,  Mary,"  my  victim  answered.  "  I  re 
member  nothing  of  all  that,  except  the 
reading  of  Thoreau,  which  is  not  strange, 
[108] 


CHANTICLEER 


either,  as  his  collective  work  is  the  hand 
book  of  our  lives."  Then  he  laughed  good- 
naturedly.  "  That  began  to  sound  rather 
like  a  platform  speech.  We  do  it  athletically, 
finely,  Maurice.  We  don't  sozzle  about." 

Our  brother  looked  unconvinced,  and  I 
broke  in  with :  "  We  have  on  thick  boots, 
and  short  skirts  —  or  I  do,  and  Roger  wears 
his  usual  knickerbockers,  so  there  is  nothing 
to  drag  in  the  wet.  We  throw  pail  after  pail 
of  clear  sparkling  water  from  the  Vosenkill 
over  the  floor,  and  each  takes  a  broom,  and, 
with  fine,  long  strokes,  like  rowing  a  racing 
shell,  we  scour  it  to  a  beautiful  whiteness. 
It  is  gloriously  healthful,  chest-expanding 
exercise.  You  can't  think  into  what  a  glow 
it  puts  one.  Then  we  go  off  on  a  long  tramp 
while  it  dries." 

"  And  when  we  come  back  to  it,  we  have," 
Roger  went  on,  "  the  sweetest,  cleanest,  most 
wholesome  abiding-place  poet  can  dream  of." 

"  Oh,"  Maurice  said  again. 
[109] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  took  pity  on  his  pride.  "  But  Miss  Rob 
ertson  is  not  to  be  initiated  so  strenuously," 
I  announced.  "  We  will  do  all  that  in  the 
cool  of  dawn.  She  does  not  arrive  until 
nearly  night." 

Maurice  gave  me  his  bewitching  smile, 
which,  said  all  the  gratitude  for  which  he  had 
no  words. 

That  angel-youth  was  astir  with  the  first 
hint  of  light  the  next  morning,  to  lend  a 
helping  patrician  hand.  At  first  he  stood 
about  awrkwardly,  and  then,  either  because  he 
was  tired  of  being  stepped  upon,  or  because 
he  had  caught  the  infection  of  our  enthusi 
asm,  he  suddenly  took  command  of  the  sit 
uation.  It  was  a  cup-race  indeed,  and 
Maurice  stroke  oarsman.  Above  the  long 
swish,  swishing  sweeps  of  his  broom  his  voice 
rang  out  in  eager  commands  to  Roger  and 
me,  after  each  inundation  of  fresh  water: 
"  !NTow.  All  together.  There.  Once  more. 
Good.  Again.  Once  more.  There  !  " 
[110] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  8& 

He  was  so  excited  that  we  thought  we 
should  not  be  able  to  check  his  mad  dashes 
to  the  Vosenkill  for  more  water.  It  was 
pretty  to  see  him  with  the  fresh  carnation  in 
his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  glowing.  He  is  an 
Adonis,  and  I  cannot  wonder  that  he  turns 
the  heads  of  silly  girls. 

"  I  don't  think  that  corner  over  there  at 
the  right  is  quite  so  white  as  the  rest,"  he 
said,  eyeing  the  result  critically.  Roger  held 
him  back  when  he  would  make  at  the  mooted 
point  with  a  new  spurt  of  energy. 

"  It  is  the  most  immaculate  of  the  lot.  I 
am  off  now.  Follow  your  leader." 

We  did.  After  a  light  luncheon  we  walked 
through  the  glorious  morning  until  we  were 
ready  for  a  more  substantial  meal,  and  the 
floor  had  had  time  to  dry. 

Roger  is  so  peculiarly  optimistic  that  he 
expected  Maurice  to  become  as  much  enam 
oured,  upon  closer  acquaintance,  with  Miss 
Robertson  as  he  had  evidently  been  at  first 
[111] 


CHANTICLEER 


sight  with  Miss  Birdsell.  When  I  would  try 
to  temper  his  credulity  he  always  checkmated 
me  with,  "  I  should  think  that  proved  his 
susceptibility." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  finally  answered,  rather 
wearily.  "  I  hope  he'll  propose  to  her  be 
fore  they  get  to  the  house.  But  I  do  not 
know  that  wTe  ought  to  really  expect  it." 

We  had  concluded,  since  some  one  ought 
to  go  down  to  the  train  to  meet  Miss  Robert 
son,  it  might  be  serving  our  hopes  to  intrust 
this  office  to  Maurice.  He  already  knew 
her  somewhat  from  an  occasional  brief  meet 
ing  at  Agawam.  They  would  have  the  five- 
mile  drive  from  the  station  to  the  edge  of  the 
woods  together,  and  then  the  long  walk  in 
where  the  farmer's  democrat  wagon  we  en 
gaged  for  such  expeditions  dare  not  venture 
its  shaky  old  springs. 

We  sat  outside  our  house  watching  for 
them,  upon  that  soft,  romantic,  most  auspi 
cious  evening.  When  I  say  we  sat  near  our 
[112] 


*33  CHANTICLEER  m 

house  I  always  mean  on  the  rock  under  the 
sentinel  pine.  Roger  had  built  a  seat  against 
the  tree  to  which  we  brought  cushions  of  com 
fort  at  these  times  of  waiting.  That  one  spot 
deserves  a  whole  lexicon  of  adulatory  adjec 
tives:  wild,  rugged,  majestic,  odorous,  pic 
turesque,  peaceful. 

The  calm  beneficence  of  the  evening  made 
us  hopeful.  Roger  said  for  the  fifty-first 
time,  "  Maurice  is  susceptible,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  must  be.  Margaret  Robertson 
is  a  very  clever  girl.  She  graduated  with 
the  highest  honours  her  college  could  give." 

"  You  don't  mean  pedantic,  I  hope.  I  al 
ways  have  considered  her  pretty." 

"  She  is.  Not  so  sickishly  sweet  as  —  some 
girls,  but  thoroughly  chic  and  charming." 

My  husband  encouraged  me  with  his 
broadest  smile  of  optimism.  "  I  think 
Maurice  is  susceptible ;  don't  you  ?  "  he  said. 

And  then  we  saw  them  coming  away  off  in 
the  distance.  They  were  a  goodly  pair  in  the 
[113] 


CHANTICLEER 


glimpses  we  could  catch  of  them  down  the 
winding  wood  road  between  the  trees  and 
the  spreading  shrubs. 

In  the  first  distinct  impression  of  Marga 
ret's  face  she  was  thrown  out  against  a  back 
ground  of  dank  green  boughs.  I  was  cer 
tainly  justified  in  calling  her  lovely. 

Roger  was  nearer  than  I  as  they  ap 
proached  us.  There  had  been  an  exchange 
of  waved  greetings,  but  now  we  had  come  to 
that  last  moment  tinged  with  the  embarrass 
ment  of  proximity  that  is  not  close  enough 
for  words. 

The  young  people's  voices,  in  low,  earnest 
conversation,  were  growing  at  each  instant 
more  audible.  The  expression  of  our  faces 
was,  I  am  afraid,  transparently  strained  and 
expectant.  Then  Roger  made  a  little  gesture 
of  disgust. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  said,  leaning  toward  him 
eagerly.  "  What  are  they  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Cocaine,"  he  answered  fiercely. 
[114] 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  DID  not  think  the  cocaine  conversation 
quite  so  discouraging  a  matter  as  Roger  did. 
Margaret  had  been  reading  a  magazine  article 
lately  upon  its  effects,  and  she  had  questioned 
Maurice,  as  a  physician,  upon  the  verity  of 
her  information.  She  has  many  and  wide  in 
terests,  and  nothing  is  more  gratifying, 
surely,  to  any  man  than  to  have  clever  fem 
ininity  learning  at  his  knee.  Incited  by 
Margaret's  eager  questions,  Maurice  reeled 
off  numerous  scientific  facts,  clothed  in  dic 
tion  that  must  have  made  him  proud  of  him 
self.  I  wondered  a  little,  before  I  began  to 
realise  that  we  were  getting,  in  not  disas 
trously  condensed  form  either,  all  the  papers 
he  had  read  to  medical  societies. 
[115] 


CHANTICLEER 


For  the  first  day  or  two  I  was  exhilarated 
with  hope.  Roger  was  not.  He  said  First 
Aid  to  the  Injured  might  be  a  profitable 
work,  but  one  could  not  reasonably  expect  it 
to  end  with  a  wedding.  "  '  Love  has  many 
and  intricate  ways/  "  I  quoted.  "  '  An  un 
dertaker  marries  as  early  as  a  poet.' ' 

"  Perhaps  so.  Let  me  know,  please,  when 
broken  hearts  have  displaced  broken  bones. 
I  confess  to  discouragement." 

In  truth,  after  the  very  first,  I  was  rather 
whistling  to  keep  my  own  courage  from  sag 
ging.  I  do  not  believe,  with  Thackeray,  that 
a  woman  may  marry  whomever  she  will,  but 
I  do  think  that  the  keynote  of  sentimentality 
is  usually  struck  by  the  weaker  hand.  Mar 
garet  was  cordial  with  Maurice,  and  even 
deferential  in  the  direction  in  which  she 
thought  he  knew  best.  But  unfortunately 
there  were  too  many  other  directions.  I  could 
see  not  a  particle  of  difference  in  her  manner 
with  any  of  the  three  of  us ;  friendly,  inter- 
[116] 


rr  u' 


O.VK  oi-~  THE  MOST  ROMA.VTJC  srors." 


833  CHANTICLEER  %® 

ested,  generous,  she  was  to  each  alike.  Polite 
indifference  does  not  tie  into  love-knots. 

I  was  not  so  much  surprised  as  I  was 
alarmed  when  I  saw  Maurice  walking  rapidly 
toward  the  Lymans'  camp  day  after  day. 
Margaret  had  a  trick  of  arranging  some  plan, 
immediately  after  breakfast,  that  included 
merely  herself  and  myself.  Roger  had  his 
writing  to  occupy  him,  and  our  brother  knew 
where  a  siren  would  look  unutterable  sweet 
ness  with  eyes  that  ^renus  might  have  envied. 

I  think  young  men  really  bore  a  girl  of 
Margaret's  type.  Unless  there  is  some  pe 
culiar  bond  of  ambition  between  them,  she 
would  rather  not  bother  with  their  vagaries. 
But  I  was  not  to  be  balked  by  any  modern 
notion.  I  planned  a  picnic  for  our  family 
party. 

A  neighbouring  stream,  called  Farrell 
Creek,  was  purple  pink,  just  then,  about  the 
mouth  with  loosestrife.  It  is  one  of  the  wild 
est,  most  romantic  spots,  anyway,  that  nature 
[117] 


CHANTICLEER 


ever  provided  for  her  favourites'  delight: 
banks  lined  with  overhanging  low-boughed 
trees,  cool  shadows  for  heated  days,  sunny 
midstream  pools  for  cool  ones,  constant  sur 
prises  in  growths,  here  a  reedy  spot  where 
tall  cat-tails  reared  their  sombre  rockets,  and 
there  long,  irregular  outlines  of  loosestrife, 
the  tender  colour  flung  back  against  the  deep 
green  of  birch  trees  and  alder  bushes.  Al 
ready  there  were  budding  hints  of  the  day 
when  these  banks  should  flame  with  the  gor 
geous  cardinal-flower. 

We  kept  a  flat-bottomed  rowboat  in  this 
idyllic  spot  for  languid  days  when  we  liked 
to  drift  about  there  in  the  deep  shadows,  to 
read,  or  to  write. 

Here  the  scene  of  my  proposed  picnic  was 
to  be  laid.  Margaret  reads  aloud  excellently 
—  I  do  not  mean  with  grimaces,  but  in  a 
clear,  sympathetic  v.oice  that,  at  times,  thrills 
one.  I  selected  a  volume  of  TCossetti,  for 
even  the  most  practical  professional  man  will 
[118] 


CHANTICLEER 


listen  to  "  Sister  Helen/'  and  I  meant  to 
make  her  amuse  Maurice,  against  their 
united  wills  though  it  might  be.  I  had  taken 
the  bit  between  my  teeth,  as  it  were,  and  ar 
ranged  the  day's  programme  to  suit  myself. 

We  were  to  start  soon  after  noon,  that 
Roger  might  have  the  morning  clear  for 
work.  We  would  have  a  walk  of  more  than 
a  mile  to  reach  Farrell  Creek.  There  we 
were  to  float  about  in  the  boat,  to  enjoy 
the  loosestrife  most  and  the  other  charms  less. 
Margaret  would  read  aloud,  Roger  and  Mau 
rice  would  fish  until  they  were  tired  of 
drawing  in  empty  hooks.  We  would  land 
for  our  luncheon  and  to  exhibit  the  main 
land  to  Margaret.  Then  we  would  take  a 
swim,  and,  after  that,  walk  home  in  the  cool 
of  the  afternoon,  when  we  women,  at  any 
rate,  would  be  ready  for  a  good,  long,  soul- 
refreshing  slumber. 

Such  was  the  original  plan.  But,  alas, 
we  were  no  longer  independent  beings.  An 
[119] 


833  CHANTICLEER  E& 

invitation  to  dinner  —  to  dinner,  forsooth ! 
—  from  the  Lymans  for  our  whole  coterie, 
displaced  all  anticipations  of  sleep.  I 
thought  the  rest  of  the  programme  could  pro 
ceed,  and  we  go  directly  to  our  hosts  from  the 
creek,  as  their  camp  lay  on  our  way,  and  save 
the  long  walk  to  our  home  and  back  again. 

Margaret  exclaimed :  "  But  our  dress, 
dear!  Surely  picnic  attire  would  never  do 
for  dinner." 

I  gave  her  that  sage  smile  of  one  behind 
the  scenes.  "  You  have  no  idea  of  the  primi 
tive  living  here.  If  we  take  some  fresh 
waists  and  collars,  to  put  on  when  we  come, 
all  transformed,  from  our  baths,  nothing 
more  could  possibly  be  expected  of  us." 

"  Is  the  early  hour  —  six  o'clock  —  a  con 
cession  to  the  woods  ?  "  she  asked,  yielding  a 
little  her  fear  of  the  formal  meal.  "  I 
might  do  your  hair,  and  you  mine,  I  suppose. 
Of  course  the  mirror  at  the  creek  is  like  that 
in  all  bath-houses  ?  " 

[120] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Yes,  I  am  afraid  so.  Do  not  be  uneasy, 
though,  about  dress.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
neatness  is  the  one  mode  here." 

Roger  had  made,  at  Farrell  Creek,  two 
large  bath-houses  of  boughs  and  awning- 
cloth,  and  it  is  there  we  go,  nearly  always, 
for  our  daily  baths;  there  are  so  many  ex 
posed  shallow  places  to  catch  and  hold  the 
sun,  in  cool  spring  days,  and  deep  sheltered 
spots  where  hot  rays  never  penetrate,  for 
sultry  hours,  that  it  is  ideal  for  the  purpose. 

I  had  no  doubt  of  emerging  directly  from 
our  bathing-suits  into  satisfactory  toilets  for 
a  camp  dinner.  The  fascinating  spot  soon 
cast  the  spell  of  its  witchery  over  Margaret, 
too,  and  her  scepticism  faded  with  her  com 
plete  submersion  in  the  charms  of  the  pres 
ent. 

As  we  glided  along  the  edge  of  the  pink 
mist  Maurice  reached  out  and  gathered  sev 
eral  long  stems  of  loosestrife.  With  a  grace 
ful  touch  of  gallantry  that  made  my  heart 
[121] 


CHANTICLEER 


seize  hope  to  dance,  he  gave  them  to  Mar 
garet. 

She  was  looking  in  abstracted  transport 
along  the  winding  course  of  bloom.  Her 
eyes  came  back  slowly  to  take  note  of  the  act. 
"  Why  did  you  give  me  these  ?  To  analyse  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  To  wear,"  said  Maurice,  rather  red. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  she  returned  with  more 
spirit.  "  They  are  very  lovely.  Would  it 
be  too  girly,  Mary,  if  I  stuck  them  in  my 
belt  ? " 

"  JSTo,  indeed/'  I  said. 

The  bright  flowers  gave  just  the  touch  of 
youthful  bloom  to  Margaret  that  she  lacked. 
Later,  when  we  were  wandering  along  the 
creek-side  together,  I  slipped  my  arm  about 
her  to  whisper :  "  You  ought  always  to  wear 
posies,  dear.  They  subdue  the  academic 
look." 

"  Do  I  look  academic  ?  "  she  asked,  a  cun 
ning  pucker  between  her  eyes.  "  I  would 
[122] 


CHANTICLEER 


wear  a  blue  sash  and  a  rose  in  my  hair,  if  I 
thought  that." 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  laughed.  "  It  is  not  quite  so 
bad;  every  woman  student  must  be  granted 
a  few  years  to  get  the  erudition  rustle  out  of 
her  petticoats.  I  should  not  be  sorry,  though, 
if  you  should  begin  collecting  friendship 
bangles,  and  a  very  few  actors'  portraits." 

"  I  suppose  I  might  do  that,"  she  said 
meekly,  though  her  expression  was  still  in 
tolerant  and  making  clearly  for  Greek 
verbs. 

"  Those  little  girlish  things  erase  the  hall 
mark  of  college  honours,"  I  went  on. 

She  lifted  her  eyebrows.  "  Is  it  so  dire  a 
disgrace  to  be  graduated  well  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  But  it  is  one  of  those 
triumphs  that  must  be  kept  under,  like  pre 
cocious  children,  for  fear  of  spoiling." 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  You  mean  my 
quoting  that  Greek  oration  yesterday." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  and  the  Latin  epi- 
[123] 


CHANTICLEER 


grams  the  day  before;    and  again  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  O  dear,"  she  sighed.  "  I  must  be  a 
goose." 

"  Not  if  you  think  so,"  I  exclaimed  hope 
fully.  "  We  are  only  geese  when  we  think  we 
are  swans." 

Margaret  pressed  my  arm  affectionately, 
and  we  moved  apart,  she,  poor  girl,  to  try  to 
be  untrue  to  her  nature,  and  I  to  regret  my 
advice. 

A  ghastly  little  drama  followed.  We 
spread  our  luncheon  in  a  rocky  fastness 
among  a  savoury  clump  of  evergreens.  I  had 
never  before  realised  of  what  a  fine  quality 
was  my  friend's  youthful  dignity  until  now, 
when  I  saw  her  distinctly  frisky.  Her  body, 
no  more  than  her  spirit,  could  lend  itself,  in 
its  tall,  strong,  well-knit  members,  to  co 
quetry.  I  know  it  was  altogether  un 
conscious,  but  she  threw  herself  into  the  role 
of  a  burlesque  imitation  of  Miss  Birdsell. 
[124] 


CHANTICLEER 


The  childish,  excited  movements,  the  in 
cessant  chatter  and  laughter,  moved  me  to  un 
easiness,  and  when  she  accepted  some  inane 
jest  with  Maurice  by  a  swift,  languishing 
look,  she  and  I  exchanged  startled  glances. 
We  both  blushed  hotly.  Then  Margaret 
shrank  behind  a  lichen-hung  rock,  as  if  she 
had  been  struck  back  by  fate.  When  her 
dauntless  spirit  emerged,  a  few  moments 
later,  there  was  no  more  acting.  And  I  was 
glad. 

Very  soon  Margaret  and  Maurice  had  their 
heads  together  over  an  ant-hill,  busily  dis 
cussing  the  marvellous  acuteness  of  red  ants. 

"  '  Let  each  man  step  to  the  music  which  he 
hears/ "  I  said  to  the  disappointment  in 
Roger's  eyes. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  he  smiled.  And  then, 
significantly :  "  We  can't  change  Margaret. 
We  must  try  to  make  Maurice  appreciate 
her." 

The  young  people  were  calling  out  their 
[125] 


CHANTICLEER 


remarks  in  strong,  clear  tones ;  we  older  ones 
subduing  ours  to  the  sentimental  pitch, 
which,  alas,  is  also  that  of  slyness.  But 
match-makers  cannot  demand  gracious 
phraseology  for  their  deeds.  Sly  we  were, 
and  sly  we  shall  be  called. 

We  spent  the  ante-bath  hour,  after  lunch 
eon,  in  furtive  visits  to  the  nests  of  feathered 
friends.  This  interesting  investigation  that 
I  cannot  forego  is  always  tinged  with  sad 
ness,  so  many  are  the  foes  of  bird-life.  A 
few  patient  mothers  were  still  at  home,  some 
of  them  more  wary  even  than  usual,  as  do 
mestic  happiness  had  already  been  postponed 
many  times  by  dire  mischance.  We  stole 
cautiously  up  to  the  sapling  from  which  had 
hung,  a  few  days  before,  the  finished  birch 
bark  nest  of  a  red-eyed  vireo  where  fledgelings 
had  clanked  their  empty  beaks  at  us  until  we 
saw  the  mother  returning  from  market,  and 
hastily  withdrew  our  indelicate  stare  from 
the  family  board. 

[  126  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  stood  upon  tiptoe  now  to  reach  my  gaze 
up  to  the  dainty  nest,  Roger  holding  the 
branches  back  for  me.  "Oh!"  I  wailed. 
Roger  knew.  He  always  knows. 

"  Come  away,  dear,"  he  said.  We  turned 
heavily.  On  the  low  limb  of  a  convenient 
oak  a  sleek  owl  blinked  her  hateful  eyes  at 
us  as  we  hurried  past.  On  the  ground  about 
were  strewn  the  tell-tale  pellets  of  compressed 
feathers  that  we  tried  not  to  see. 

When  we  came  to  the  spot  where  a  robin's 
humble  home  had  been  in  a  maple  on  the 
bank  above  Sylvester's  Pool  I  was  afraid  to 
look.  Roger's  eyes  said,  "  Shall  I  go  first  ?  " 
I  nodded  my  head.  Then  I  waited.  Men 
are  slow  at  caution.  Minutes  beat  about  me, 
with  batlike  wings.  I  waited,  and  still  I 
waited.  Then  a  cheerful  voice  rang  out, 
"  Six  bells,  and  all  is  well." 

I  rushed  headlong  up  the  little  knoll  where 
my  husband  stood  looking  down  at  a  flutter 
ing  family.  His  voice  had  startled  them  into 
[127] 


*33  CHANTICLEER  %& 

nervous  tremor.  Our  sympathy  could  but 
turn  away. 

"  Dear,  patient  sufferers,"  I  sighed,  "  mo 
notonously  cheerful  when  only  one  is  gone." 

Roger  started.  "  Why,  yes ! "  he  ex 
claimed.  "  There  were  three." 

I  drew  my  hand  through  his  arm.  "  And 
we  must  dine  with  the  Lymans  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,"  I  said. 


[128] 


CHAPTER   X 

IT  took  many  submersions  in  the  crystal- 
clear  depths  of  Farrell  Creek  to  subdue  the 
fever  in  my  heart.  I  had  always  thought 
my  bathing-suit  made  cork  of  my  spirits, 
and  floated  them  with  my  body  as  carelessly 
as  a  water-lily.  But  my  left  side  was  hope 
lessly  heavy,  until  I  became  engrossed  in 
the  task  we  all  undertook  of  teaching  Marga 
ret  to  swim.  She  had  learned  to  take  a  few 
strokes  in  sustaining  salt  water,  but  she 
stood,  trembling  and  transfixed,  at  the  amaz 
ing  nature  of  our  fresh-water  feats. 

The  vanity  that  comes  to  the  surface  in 
us  all  at  times  arose  now  in  me,  not  a  rich 
cream  of  endeavour,  but  a  miserable  scum  of 
baser  qualities.  I  tried  distinctly  to  show 
off.  I  dove  from  the  overhanging  boulders, 
[129] 


CHANTICLEER 


splashing  down  into  Margaret's  screams.  I 
swam  under  water,  I  floated,  I  made  long  dis 
tance  records,  I  rescued  imaginary  victims  in 
the  form  of  arrested  debris.  My  exhibition 
moved  buoyantly  to  the  sweet  music  of  my 
friend's  surprise.  Suddenly  I  realised  that 
I  was  winning  all  the  applause,  while  my 
poor  husband  was  left  to  assist  our  guest. 
I  swam  hastily  up  to  them  to  make  what  be 
lated  amends  I  could  by  taking  Margaret's 
lessons  into  my  own  hands,  but  a  conscious 
ness  of  selfishness  was  not  an  auspicious 
preparation  for  what  lay  before  us. 

I  was  dissatisfied  with  myself,  and,  when 
w'e  hurried  into  our  fresh  waists  and  neat 
walking  skirts,  it  was  difficult  to  be  patient 
with  Margaret's  evident  disapproval  of  her 
appearance.  Clothes  seemed  so  paltry.  If 
there  were  no  tragedy  upon  my  heart,  and 
no  thoughtlessness  upon  my  conscience,  I 
should  have  been  willing  to  go  barefoot  — 
or,  at  least,  I  thought  so. 
[130] 


CHANTICLEER 


Margaret  further  exasperated  me  by  ask 
ing  if  we  were  not  starting  too  early  for  a 
six  o'clock  dinner.  "  My  dear,"  I  said,  with 
studied  gentleness,  "  compliments  are  meas 
ured  here  by  the  eagerness  to  arrive.  We 
do  not  even  know  where  the  tree  of  knowl 
edge  grows." 

"  Pardon  my  persistency,  Mary,  won't 
you  ?  "  she  smiled  ;  "  I  am  so  green  in 
Paradise." 

Then  she  launched  an  animated  conversa 
tion  with  Roger  that  brought  them  in  step 
and  thrust  Maurice  upon  me  for  escort. 
That  sort  of  girl  always  begins  a  long  story 
with  the  wrong  man  at  the  exact  moment  of 
pairing  off.  I  tried  not  to  make  Maurice 
responsible,  as  a  young  woman  would, 
though  it  was  hard  to  listen  to  his  animated 
discussion  of  the  opinions  of  "  a  friend  of 
his,"  feeling  so  sure,  as  I  did,  who  the  friend 
was,  and  that  there  was  an  unconscious  re 
dressing  of  the  statements  for  which  he 
[131] 


893  CHANTICLEER  E& 

seemed  to  be  giving  Agnes  Birdsell  full 
credit. 

If  we  all  have,  as  has  been  said,  a  sub 
ject  upon  which  we  are  monomaniacs,  mine 
is  perhaps  woodland  vandalism.  I  have  no 
tolerance  to  spare  for  the  itching  fingers 
that  tear  flourishing  ferns  from  their  natu 
ral  environment  to  moult  in  tame  dooryards ; 
which  cannot  touch  wild  nature  anywhere, 
in  fact,  without  breaking,  or  bruising,  de 
spoiling  its  home,  and  polluting  their  own 
with  stale  odours  of  fresh  fields. 

The  Lymans'  camp  was  flanked  by  droop 
ing,  transplanted  growths  that  always 
stirred  my  blood  to  wrath  as  I  approached 
it.  This  day  the  instinctive  rush  of  feeling 
was  intensified  by  an  indefinable,  incongruous 
atmosphere  of  festivity  about  the  place. 
For  some  reason  a  Japanese  gong  had 
seemed  to  the  head  of  the  house  an  appropri 
ate  instrument  for  arriving  guests  to  use  for 
their  warning  note.  Roger  struck  it  with 
[132] 


SB  CHANTICLEER  868 

rather  unnecessary  fierceness,  and  a  waiting- 
maid  appeared  in  full  uniform.  If  a  liver 
ied  footman  had  emerged  suddenly  from 
the  shades  to  wait  upon  Robinson  Crusoe 
and  his  man  Friday,  I  do  not  believe  Defoe 
could  have  been  more  startled  than  we  were 
now.  I  am  afraid  we  gaped  at  this  ghost 
of  civilisation,  Roger  and  I,  in  our  robust 
innocence,  remembering  as  I  do  my  brother's 
high  colour  as  we  were  ushered  in.  The 
right-hand  corner  of  the  main  tent  was  parti 
tioned  off  with  muffling  drapery  into  a  be- 
cushioned  apartment  where  our  united  eyes 
fell  upon  a  clock  that  indelicately  registered 
half-past  five,  as  our  ears  were  becoming 
acquainted  with  muttered  excuses  from  the 
vanishing  maid  and  hints  of  the  ladies' 
speedy  presence. 

In  that  hour  I  learned  what  a  generous 
woman,  what  a  fine-grained  lady,  Margaret 
Robertson  is.     There  was  not  one  reproach 
ful  glance,  not  the  most  fleeting  change  of 
[133] 


CHANTICLEER 


colour.  She  was  the  same  confident,  grace 
ful  girl  I  had  always  found  her,  apparently 
unaware  now  of  the  shirt  waist  that  seared 
my  remorse  as  if  each  of  its  tiny  stripes 
were  so  many  hot  irons  torturing  my  con 
sciousness.  Our  experiment  had  already 
done  this  much  for  me  that  I  had  no  regret 
for  myself,  or  for  my  husband,  because  of 
my  blundering  misreading  of  the  invita 
tion.  But  I  was  truly  sorry  to  have  sub 
mitted  our  guests  to  embarrassment. 

Presently  Mr.  Lyman  came  in,  red  and 
breathless.  And,  in  a  few  minutes  more, 
the  ladies  appeared  in  diaphanous  gowns 
of  pale  shades  and  lace-trimmed  ruffles  that 
lifted,  for  the  first  moment,  eyes  grown  un 
accustomed  to  a  transport  of  admiration. 
The  elder  sister  wore  a  delicate  green  dim 
ity,  while  Agnes  was  transcendently  lovely  in 
a  dainty  pink  lawn  with  fluttering  ribbons, 
bewitching  bows,  and  graceful  falls  of  lace. 
The  taste  was  negative,  but  the  beauty  was 
[134] 


CHANTICLEER 


positive.  Margaret  looked  to  me  suddenly 
as  if  she  might  have  had  on  a  dozen  shirt 
waists,  one  above  another,  so  conspicuous 
had  contrast  made  her  costume.  But  no 
one  could  have  been  less  awkward  under  the 
trial.  She  was  no  more  conscious  than  a 
disembodied  spirit,  and  if  Maurice  had  not 
watched  us  so  narrowly  I  might  have  thought 
less  of  ourselves  and  more  of  the  great  jars 
of  ferns  everywhere  about  us;  there  were 
as  ruthless  displays  of  maidenhair  as  if  it 
were  a  common  garden  weed.  My  imagi 
nation  would  strike  inflexibly  against  the 
bare  brown  spots  from  which  all  this  wealth 
of  savoury  green  had  been  uprooted,  but  I 
could  not  be  half  angry  enough  to  satisfy 
discontent,  my  brother's  furtive  glances  kept 
me  so  disturbed  for  Margaret. 

Finally  the  Enderson  neighbours  arrived, 
the  lady  of  the  party  festive  in  pale  blue 
muslin,  and  the  male  contingent  too  in  half- 
formal  finery.     These  women  must  all  have 
[135] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  m 

argued  from  a  premise  that  the  inexpensive- 
ness  of  their  gowns  made  them  appropriate, 
and  the  men  had,  of  course,  been  merely 
told  what  course  to  pursue. 

Dinner  was  served  by  the  trim  maid  we 
had  already  seen,  and  by  Mr.  Lyman's  gen 
eral  utility  man,  who,  I  suppose,  must  also 
have  been  the  cook.  No  one  could  say  that, 
no  matter  how  many  offices  he  had  had  to 
perform,  he  did  not  fully  appreciate  the 
dignity  of  this  one.  When  he  reappeared 
for  each  course  he  had  added  some  new 
touch  of  pomp  to  his  toilet.  The  seersucker 
coat  of  the  canned  soup  era  had  evolved  into 
dress  tails  by  the  canned  plum  pudding  stage. 
There  was  no  necktie  when  the  canned  sal 
mon  abused  our  nostrils,  but,  by  the  time 
we  were  pretending  to  eat  potted  quail,  a 
snowy  band  encircled  his  proud  throat.  I 
was  sorry  when  dinner  was  over,  for  I  was 
really  curious  to  see  how  many  more  clothes 
Herrickson  had  back  in  those  mysterious  re- 
[136] 


&8  CHANTICLEER  858 

gions  where  only  culinary  products  are  sup 
posed  to  flourish,  and  to  produce  their  own 
kind. 

My  emancipated  stomach  recoiled  from 
the  tinned  stuffs,  and  I  longed  to  be  turned 
out  in  the  fields  to  nibble  sorrel  and  clover- 
tops,  when  the  curtain  had  literally  fallen 
upon  the  nauseating  display.  But,  rather, 
we  fled  from  the  hot  glaring  lanterns  outside 
the  tent  to  drink  our  coffee.  The  camp  is 
low  and  close  to  the  water,  and,  in  a  damp, 
still  night,  such  as  this  was  proving,  mos 
quitoes  are  an  active  torment.  They  are 
unknown  in  our  situation,  and  I  had  forgot 
ten  their  existence  until  our  fiery  introduc 
tion  at  this  moment.  I  know  I  could  have 
endured  it  if  they  had  merely  taken  a  sip 
of  my  blood  now  and  then.  But  they  filled 
generous  bumpers  of  that  rich  fluid,  quaff 
ing  it  with  a  gay,  ringing  buzz  of  defiance 
that  was  infuriating. 

Miss  Birdsell  told  me  at  dinner  that  Percy 
[137] 


CHANTICLEER 


Enderson  had  written  a  lovely  pastoral  which 
was  to  be  given  soon  at  Judge  Elliott's,  and 
that  she  was  to  assume  one  of  the  principal 
roles.  "  I  did  not  know  he  wrote  at  all,"  I 
had  said. 

"  He  has  published  a  lovely  book  of  poems 
about  Sleep,  and  Pan,  and  Unrest.  Don't 
you  know  his  name  ?  "  she  returned  in  mild 
reproof. 

I  was  forced  to  admit  that  I  did  not  read 
quite  so  much  upon  those  topics  as  I  had 
done  when  they  first  became  the  imperative 
themes  of  popular  versifiers. 

This  conversation  could  not  improve  my 
humour.  If  Judge  Elliott, was  to  give  a  pas 
toral,  written  by  one  of  the  rhyming  biog 
raphers  of  poor  Pan,  I  knew  too  well  that 
my  sad  eyes  should  behold  that  pastoral. 
Consequently  the  young  interpreter  of 
Sleep  and  Unrest  was  henceforth  my 
enemy.  Then  I  could  not  help  hearing  Miss 
Birdsell  telling  Maurice  in  an  undertone 
[138] 


CHANTICLEER 


that  she  had  made  Sister  have  some  sort 
of  particularly  disgusting  dressing  because 
she  knew  it  was  his  favourite.  Maurice  had 
exclaimed  at  her  remembering  his  predilec 
tion  all  that  time,  which  turned  out  to  be 
exactly  four  days.  I  did  not  think  that 
nearly  so  wonderful  as  that  Maurice  should 
like  the  dressing.  It  recalled  Heine's 
graphic  description,  "  The  still  wretcheder 
sauce,  which  has  neither  a  Grecian  nor  a 
Persian  flavour,  but  which  tastes  like  tea  and 
soft  soap." 

As  these  tender  blandishments  were  go 
ing  on,  I  looked  to  see  Margaret  talking 
animatedly  with  one  of  the  married  men. 

While  we  drank  our  coffee,  or  I  think  it 
would  be  more  realistic  to  say  while  the  mos 
quitoes  drank  us,  Margaret  came  to  me  to 
whisper :  "  Roger  and  I  have  had  such  an 
interesting  talk  about  those  cliffs  over  there. 
I  had  no  idea  they  were  of  that  forma 
tion." 

[139] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Margaret  Robertson,"  I  said,  "  you  did 
not  come  here  to  talk  geology  to  Roger." 

She  laughed  a  little  uneasily.  "  ifo  one 
seems  to  have  come  here  to  talk  to  me  about 
anything  else.  But  I  will  try." 

The  unconscious  girl  seated  herself  by 
the  young  author,  and,  with  deliberate  forti 
tude,  invited  a  synopsis  of  a  forthcoming 
romance.  Meanwhile  Maurice  was  fanning 
Agnes  Birdsell,  smiling  arch  winsomeness 
into  his  eyes,  in  the  charm  of  her  gauzy  pink 
allurement.  When  the  monotonous  ticking 
of  Mr.  Enderson's  voice  ceased,  it  was  time 
to  go  home. 

As  our  party  was  starting  away,  Agnes 
discovered  a  splinter  in  her  finger,  which,  of 
course,  meant  an  appeal  to  the  physician's 
aid.  The  earnest  practitioner  led  her  very 
gravely  to  the  light  of  a  glaring  reflector  for 
examination.  "  It  is  nothing  serious,"  he 
called  out  to  us.  "  You  may  go  on.  I  will 
overtake  you." 

[140] 


CHANTICLEER 


Of  course  we  would  go  on.  I  could  not 
look  at  him  holding  Agnes  Birdsell's  hand. 
Good  nights  rang  all  about  us.  The  Ender- 
sons  went  their  way,  we  ours. 

I  wondered  if  the  evening  had  been  needed 
discipline.  If  I  were  discontented  with  my 
lot,  I  might  have  thought  that  dark  blot  of 
conventionality  was  wafered  upon  the  crys 
tal  fairness  of  my  existence  to  teach  by  con 
trast.  If  I  had  been  luring  Maurice  to 
Agnes  Birdsell's  side,  the  event  might  have 
been  the  scene  of  my  discovery  that  she 
would  not  make  a  wise  sister-in-law.  Per 
haps  it  had  occurred  to  show  me  what  I 
would  not  have  believed  —  that  I  could 
sneer  at  the  hospitality  of  those  with  whom  I 
had  broken  bread.  Nothing  had  pleased  me 
but  that  fine  bit  of  comedy  of  Herrickson's. 
The  ladies'  betrimmed  finery  seemed  less 
odious  than  the  greasy  salmon  and  the  wilted 
ferns,  though  I  loathed  it  all  in  retrospect, 
and  I  was  not  even  repentant. 


SS  CHANTICLEER  88$ 

When  Maurice  joined  us  Margaret  was 
discussing  a  new  comet  with  Roger,  and 
mounting  rocks  for  a  better  view  of  it.  So 
my  brother  helped  me  over  the  rough  places. 
"  Don't  you  think  Mrs.  Lyman  has  remark 
able  executive  ability  to  conjure  up  so  much 
convention  in  the  woods  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Granted  one  wants  convention  in  the 
woods,  it  is  remarkable,"  I  answered.  Dis 
cussing  anything  with  Roger  is  merely  turn 
ing  it  over  to  the  other  side  of  my  mind,  but 
I  was  not  so  despicable  as  to  criticise  our 
entertainment  to  Maurice,  if  my  thoughts 
had  been  base.  I  changed  the  subject  ab 
ruptly,  and  he  did  not  recur  to  it. 

When  Margaret  and  I  were  undressing,  I 
watched  her  take  off  her  shirt  waist  with  a 
strange  sinking  of  my  heart.  "  Reproach 
me,"  I  said.  "  You  are  too  big-minded  for 
this  polluted  world." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked, 
turning  puzzled  eyes  toward  me. 
[142] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  My  judging  the  Lymans  by  our  stand 
ards,  and  misleading  you  about  their  din 
ner,"  I  said.  "  The  most  scathing  thing 
Junius  wrote  to  the  Duke  of  Grafton  applies 
to  me." 

"  What  was  it  ?  There  were  so  many  of 
those  most  scathing  things." 

I  gave  her  a  penitent  hug.  She  returned 
it  fervently.  Then  she  asked,  "  What  did 
Junius  say  ?  " 

"  '  It  is  not,' '  I  declaimed  tragically, 
"  '  that  you  do  wrong  by  design,  but  that  you 
never  do  right  by  mistake.' ' 


[143] 


CHAPTER    XI 

I  WAS  low  in  my  mind  the  next  day,  very 
low.  I  had  not  been  so  unhappy  since  I  had 
gained  my  freedom.  I  loathed  myself  as 
much  now  as  I  had  loathed  the  salmon  salad 
the  night  before. 

Pride  of  opinion,  contempt  of  every  stand 
ard  but  our  own,  —  these  evils  of  the  day, 
—  had  not  been  purged  from  my  soul  by 
its  fuller  existence.  I  was  ashamed,  like 
the  other  Eve  in  her  Paradise,  though  with 
a  difference.  Poor  Eve !  I  should  have 
been  sorry  for  her,  if  I  had  not  been  so 
busy  thinking  of  that  blessed  Moses.  How 
much  easier  to  be  Daniel,  how  much  easier 
to  be  anybody  or  anything  than  meek.  I 
have  known  much  good  in  the  course  of  my 
[144] 


CHANTICLEER 


years,  but  only  three  human  beings  that 
were  really  meek.  Two  of  these  were  men, 
but  there  was  one  woman,  from  which  fact 
I  dare  hope  that  some  random  seed  of  that 
rarest  virtue  may  yet  mature  in  my  own 
spirit.  I  marvel  often  that  we  think  so 
little  of  him  who  was  greater  than  the 
greatest  hero  of  us  all  —  the  supreme  attainer 
of  the  well-nigh  unattainable.  Venerable 
Moses,  my  soul  is  low  in  the  dust  before 
you. 

From  contemplation  of  my  own  future 
crop  of  humility,  my  thoughts  swung  back 
to  consideration  of  that  potent  factor  in 
even  the  most  humble  living  —  respect  for 
appearances.  What  other  force,  which  in 
volves  no  intrinsic  value,  is  comparable  with 
it?  I  was  as  sorry  for  Margaret  and  Mau 
rice  as  if  I  had  induced  them  to  break  some 
rule  of  godliness,  and,  too,  when  I  knew  I  was 
right.  I  was  unworthy  of  my  master  who 
said :  "  I  sometimes  try  my  acquaintances 


CHANTICLEER 


by  such  tests  as  these:  Who  could  wear 
a  patch,  or  two  extra  seams  only,  over  the 
knee  ?  It  would  be  easier  for  them  to  hobble 
to  town  with  a  broken  leg  than  with  a  broken 
pantaloon." 

Not  so  grim,  but  almost  as  forcible,  were 
Lowell's  words  on  the  subject  that  possessed 
me :  "  The  code  of  society  is  stronger  with 
most  persons  than  that  of  Sinai,  and  many 
a  man,  who  would  not  scruple  to  thrust  his 
fingers  in  his  neighbour's  pocket,  would 
forego  green  peas  rather  than  use  his  knife 
as  a  shovel." 

So  lowly  was  I  that  I  even  looked  unper 
turbed  upon  Maurice  escorting  Miss  Bird- 
sell,  while  Margaret  was  paired  with  Mr. 
Enderson,  when  our  young  people  started 
off  for  the  Park  where  they  had  been  invited 
for  golf.  Even  that  word  of  convention 
ality  did  not  disturb  my  emulation  of  the 
patriarch.  I  deserved  it,  and,  as  for  my 
brother's  fate,  if  he  had  not  been  already 
[146] 


CHANTICLEER 


hopelessly  in  love  with  Miss  Birdsell,  his 
pride  could  not  sustain  the  comparison  my 
obduracy  had  thrust  the  rival  into. 

The  thought  of  Margaret's  heightened 
value,  since  she  had  been  tried  in  that  hot 
test  crucible,  and  not  once,  even  after  twelve 
hours'  reflection,  hinted  by  word  or  gesture, 
"  I  thought  as  much,"  would  have  made  the 
position  more  desperate  for  one  less  penitent, 
and  less  like  Moses. 

I  suffered  for  a  long  time,  and  then  I 
stood  in  the  doorway  and  was  happy.  It 
was  that  early  afternoon  hour  when  the 
lush  growths  of  summer  seem  to  bear  the 
soul  upward.  The  flight  was  hushed  and 
almost  oppressively  glorious.  I  had  not  the 
spiritual  strength  to  bear  it  alone.  I 
thought  of  Roger,  and  of  how  necessary  he 
was  to  every  exalted  mood,  and  then  the 
fancy  seized  me  to  dash  off  and  tell  him  so. 

I  came,  a  little  breathlessly,  down  to  him 
working  in  his  beloved  garden.  He  was  not 
[147] 


CHANTICLEER 


greatly  surprised  to  see  me;  for  my  visits 
are  frequent  when  he  is  really  engaged 
there,  though  I  do  not  so  often  break  in 
upon  this  between-chapters  exercise.  He 
likes  to  get  into  the  soil,  when  he  is  compos 
ing  ahead;  digging  up  the  ground  seems  to 
unearth  his  thoughts,  at  the  same  time  that 
it  relaxes  the  muscles  of  his  body. 

After  a  brief  greeting,  he  was  silent.  He 
knew  that  I  realised  he  was  mentally  en 
gaged.  I  stood,  for  a  moment,  wondering 
how  he  could  pull  up  weeds  so  deftly  with 
the  tips  of  his  fingers,  and  still  keep  those 
busy  members  white  and  clean. 

I  kicked  my  foot  against  a  stone,  and 
dropped  my  eyes.  The  sun  glared  down  upon 
the  homely  scene.  What  I  had  to  say  seemed 
suddenly  strangely  out  of  place.  I  was  much 
embarrassed,  but  the  spirit  that  had  led  me 
thither  made  me  speak,  if  it  were  but  awk 
wardly. 

"  Roger,"  I  broke  out,  "  it  seems  foolish, 
[148] 


CHANTICLEER 


now  I  have  come.     But  I  have  been  thinking 
-  1  must  tell  you  :   there  is  no  happiness  in 
the  world  without  you.    I  am  glad  I  am  your 
wife." 

My  husband  raised  his  head  to  look  in  my 
eyes.  There  are  no  seasons  and  places  for 
love.  It  is  beautiful  even  in  a  turnip  patch. 


[149] 


CHAPTER  XII 

MAKGAKET  and  Maurice  were  of  necessity 
thrown  more  upon  each  other  for  amusement 
during  the  next  week  or  two.  The  prospec 
tive  entertainment  at  Judge  Elliott's  was  be 
ing  pushed  toward  success  with  a  persistency 
of  rehearsal  that  engrossed,  not  only  Agnes 
Birdsell,  but  Mr.  Enderson  too,  in  the  ca 
pacity  of  manager.  Mrs.  Lyman's  aid  in  ar 
rangement  was  likewise  levied  upon,  and 
from  the  placid  shade  of  our  environment  we 
would  see  this  warm  and  harassed  trio  hurry 
by  to  their  task  daily  and  sometimes  twice 
daily. 

"  What  a  fatiguing  thing  a  pastoral  must 
be,"  I  said  to  my  family  the  afternoon  of  the 
dress  rehearsal.  We  had  formed  ourselves 
[150] 


833  CHANTICLEER  S& 

into  a  relief  society,  and  had  called  in  the 
fevered  sufferers,  on  their  homeward  way,  to 
a  resuscitation  of  cold  spring  water  and  lem 
onade  and  fruit  punch.  We  each  one  had 
some  remedy  to  offer,  and  their  necessity  ac 
cepted  them  all. 

It  was  not  the  spring  water  nor  the  fruit 
punch  that  went  to  their  poor  heads,  but  the 
heat  and  harassment.  It  was  after  they 
had  staggered  away  that  I  made  my  remark 
about  pastorals. 

We  had  been  spending  the  day  with  the 
pond  lilies,  in  the  cool  shadows  of  Crystal 
Lake.  Gathering  water  lilies  is  one  of 
the  few  forms  of  acquisitiveness  that  I 
cultivate;  but  those  pure  things  are  doomed 
to  so  short  a  life  where  their  lots  are  cast  that 
I  enjoy  sometimes  snatching  them  from  the 
untimely  fate  of  the  inevitable  destroying 
insect.  We  brought  home  a  basketful  on  this 
day  and  laid  them  in  a  cool  pool  in  the  Vo- 
senkill  in  front  of  our  home.  We  enclosed 
[151] 


CHANTICLEER 


the  little  inlet  with  stones  that  the  flowers 
might  not  float  away,  for  we  wanted  to  watch 
them  unclose  with  the  morrow's  sun;  and 
then  we  seated  ourselves  on  moss-grown  rocks 
close  by  to  gloat  over  their  waxen,  sleeping 
beauty  at  short  range.  I  believe  we  all  tried 
that  evening  to  lift  our  conversation  to  the 
level  of  their  inspiration.  Margaret  and 
Roger  succeeded,  and  I  do  not  think  Maurice 
and  I  were  as  commonplace  as  if  we 
had  been  gazing  at  a  potato  patch  —  or  a 
pastoral. 

That  fateful  word  brings  my  narrative 
back  to  the  invitations  that  had  come  to  us 
for  a  garden  fete  to  be  held  at  Elliottiana. 
Each  message  was  written  upon  a  roll  of 
birch  bark  and  tied  up  with  dried  grass.  The 
man  who  brought  them,  in  a  fascinating  box, 
with  those  for  the  Lymans  and  Endersons, 
gave  at  the  first  glimpse  the  impression  of  a 
vender  of  some  sort  of  edible  delicacy.  Roger 
had  rushed  up  to  him  with  kindled  appetite. 
[152] 


CHANTICLEER 


My  poor  husband  expected  a  delicious  ta- 
male,  and  was  handed  a  bark  invitation. 

"  Roger,  you  are  looking  murderously 
after  that  poor  fellow,"  I  said  as  the  retreat 
ing  footsteps  crackled  more  faintly  over  the 
dead  leaves  of  the  distance.  "  Why  will  you 
harm  him  ?  He  is  only  an  accessory  to  the 
crime." 

I  know  it  was  simply  because  he  was  tried 
beyond  human  endurance  that  my  husband 
said  the  most  malicious  thing  he  could  think 
of.  It  was,  "  Mary,  I  believe  you  want  to 
go." 

However,  that  bit  of  connubial  theatrics  is 
as  dead  now  as  the  lost  tragedies  of  Sopho 
cles.  I  forgave  him  freely,  and  borrowed 
some  cuff  buttons  of  him  to  wear  to  the  fes 
tivities.  Neither  Margaret  nor  I  had  deemed 
it  fitting  to  bring  any  more  elaborate  costume 
to  the  woods  than  one  of  white  pique.  After 
we  were  dressed  in  these  toilets  of  crackling 
freshness  and  our  two  handsome  men  had 
[  153  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


donned  duck  trousers  and  jaunty  jackets,  our 
vanity  swaggered  a  little.  I  wondered  if  our 
neighbours  would  wear  French  gowns.  They 
did  not  do  that,  but  when  they  joined  us  en 
route  they  were  clad  in  the  debatable  finery 
of  dinner-party  fame,  with  the  effect  height 
ened  by  elaborate  opera  capes. 

We  started  off  in  a  heterogeneous  group, 
but  I  soon  saw  that  Maurice  was  walking  by 
Agnes  Birdsell's  side.  In  the  excitement  of 
her  histrionic  anticipations  she  was  one  of  the 
loveliest  bits  of  girlhood  I  have  ever  seen,  a 
certain  arch  vivacity  lending  a  touch  of  spu 
rious  brightness.  Margaret's  solid  worth 
was  striding  in  approved  gymnasium  gait 
with  Mrs.  Enderson.  Ah,  well,  I  had  deter 
mined  to  struggle  no  longer  with  fate.  Mau 
rice  might  always  find  beauty  so  rare  the 
most  desirable  wifely  endowment.  For  my 
self  I  knew  that  I  undoubtedly  needed  as 
well  as  deserved  such  discipline,  but  Roger 
did  not.  Fortunately  there  is  always  some 
[154] 


CHANTICLEER 


reason  why  we  should  continue  to  hope  that 
Providence  may  yet  be  kind. 

Judge  and  Mrs.  Elliott  and  the  Misses  El 
liott  were  standing  to  receive  arriving  guests 
upon  their  wide  veranda,  which  was  hung 
about  thickly  with  Japanese  curtains,  for 
what  reason  I  could  not  discover,  unless  it 
was  to  shut  out  the  air  and  run  up  the  family 
thermometer.  The  Judge  is  one  of  those 
natural  braggarts  who  deal  exclusively  in 
superlatives.  The  last  time  he  visited  us  he 
was  declaiming  about  how  much  money  his 
brother  had  lost  in  a  western  mine.  This  af 
ternoon  he  said  after  the  first  greeting:  "I 
don't  suppose  there  is  a  hotter  place  any 
where  than  this.  My  thermometer  didn't  go 
below  eighty-seven  any  day  last  week.  There 
wasn't  another  one  in  the  Park  above 
eighty." 

I  expressed  my  polite  surprise  and  moved 
on.  Mrs.  Elliott  had  been  fanning  my  other 
cheek  with  the  remark :  "  One  day  it  was 
[155] 


*33  CHANTICLEER  m 

ninety-three.  I  think  it  was.  Judge,  wasn't 
it  ninety-three  here  the  day  before  the  thun 
der-shower  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  was,  but  it's  been  worse  than 
that,"  the  fever-producing  voice  persisted,  its 
owner  following  me  on  to  my  greeting  of 
other  friends,  although  none  of  the  men  of 
our  party  had  yet  been  welcomed.  "  I  tell 
Mrs.  Elliott  she  will  smother  you  all  in  that 
little  tent  to-night." 

I  turned  my  eyes  after  his  to  the  lawn 
where  a  tent  of  gay  awning  cloth  was 
stretching  its  empty  sides  in  greedy  anticipa 
tion  of  coming  victims. 

"  If  you  are  determined  to  kill  us,"  I 
laughed  with  feeble  jocoseness,  "  I  think  I 
will  petition  for  freezing  to-night." 

He  gave  me  what  Sydney  Smith  called  "  a 
ready-money  smile,"  and  proceeded  to  clasp 
Roger's  sensitive  fingers  in  his  embracing 
patronage. 

I  asked  Mrs.  Elliott,  merely  by  way  of 
[156] 


&%  CHANTICLEER  £5$ 

making  talk,  who  a  fine-looking  old  gentle 
man  was  who  had  attracted  my  attention  by 
his  isolated  position  in  a  remote  pagoda  on 
the  very  outskirts  of  our  host's  grounds. 

"  That  person  ?  Let  me  see,"  she  hesi 
tated.  "  I  will  ask  the  Judge." 

"  No,  no,"  I  interposed.  "  It  is  not  of 
consequence." 

But  protests  were  futile.  Our  party  was 
stayed  in  impatient  congestion  until  the  Judge 
could  be  disentangled  from  his  duties  suffi 
ciently  for  this  ominous  message :  "  I  will 
tell  her  all  about  him  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
away  from  here." 

He  did  give  me  a  biography,  mostly  specu 
lative,  of  the  nice-faced  old  dear  who  de 
served  a  better  fate.  I  was  carried  to  a  rus 
tic  seat  for  the  purpose.  The  Judge  is  gen 
erous  of  words.  I  listened  to  him  for  a  full 
half-hour  while  I  saw  my  party  hopelessly 
scattered,  sauntering  about  in  pairs  or  in 
large  groups  hither  and  thither,  in  a  real  at- 
[157] 


CHANTICLEER 


tempt,  I  think,  to  evade  the  sun,  for  there 
had  been  a  ruthless  levelling  of  trees  at  El- 
liottiana,  though  promenading  to  music  was 
the  ostensible  moving-spring  of  action.  The 
programme  was  conversation  and  music  and 
strolling  until  the  rustic  supper  was  served, 
and  then  the  feature  of  the  day  —  the  pasto 
ral  play. 

After  leading  me  with  pompous  ceremony 
to  the  remote  seat  our  host  spread  himself  out 
beside  me  with  his  most  judgified  expression. 
"  Now  let  me  hear/'  he  said,  "  just  what  it  is 
you  want  to  know."  And  he  proceeded  to 
question  and  cross-question  me  until  my 
poor,  innocent  make-talk  speech  loomed  up 
before  me  a  condemnatory  utterance  of  state 
importance. 

"  I  think  you  have  misunderstood  me,"  I 
urged,  when  I  could  wedge  that  many  words 
into  his  earnestness.  "  My  remark  was  the 
merest  bit  of  idle  curiosity." 

The  Judge  nodded  his  head.  "  That  is  all 
[158] 


CHANTICLEER 


very  well.  I  haven't  misunderstood  you. 
The  case  stands  thus:  You  asked  Mrs.  El 
liott,  did  you  not,  who  old  Mr.  Estabrook 
was  ?  Now  the  fact  is,"  here  he  lowered  his 
voice  to  a  mysterious  whisper,  "  I  really  do 
not  know.  But  I  think  I  can  find  out  for 
you." 

"Judge  Elliott,"  I  protested,  "I  do  not 
care.  It  makes  no  difference  whatever." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  makes  a  difference 
to  me.  I  want  to  oblige  you." 

"  It  is  such  a  trifle." 

He  nodded  sagely.  "  I  believe  I  could 
learn  just  what  you  want  to  know  from 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Graham.  Estabrook  goes 
to  his  church.  I  will  write  to  him  to 
night." 

"  I  cannot  allow  you  to  go  to  that  trouble 
for  a  mere  whim  of  mine,"  I  began  a  little 
stiffly,  for  I  was  really  worn  by  his  persist 
ency. 

The  Judge  pouted  out  his  lips,  as  he  does 
[159] 


CHANTICLEER 


in  his  most  impressive  moments.  "  I  want 
to  find  out  for  myself  too/'  he  admitted. 
"  I  had  a  voucher  of  respectability,  signed 
by  the  Reverend  Graham  and  some  others  in 
Newtown,  where  he  has  always  lived,  when  I 
sold  him  the  land  for  his  cottage.  All  I 
know  besides  is  that  he  was  in  the  paint  and 
oil  business  for  a  good  many  years.  He 
seems  to  have  saved  a  fair  competency  and 
retired.  I  can  easily  find  out  more,  and  I 
will.  I  didn't  want  to  slight  him,  to-night, 
when  all  the  rest  of  the  Park  would  be  here. 
He's  all  right  anyway.  You  needn't  be 
afraid." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  I  cried  hotly.  "  His 
fine,  gentle  old  face  speaks  for  itself." 

My  indignant  gaze  turned  away,  and  at 
once  it  was  softened  by  the  dignified  approach 
of  the  subject  of  our  conversation. 

"  Here  he  is  now,"  the  Judge  exclaimed, 
stepping    forward    with    portly    patronage. 
"  Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Estabrook." 
[160] 


CHANTICLEER 


The  coarse-grained  Judge,  rubbing  the  pa 
trician  soul  of  the  ex-paint-and-oil  merchant 
with  what  Thoreau  called  "  the  greasy  cheek 
of  his  kindness/'  set  my  blood  to  tingling. 
I  looked  up  into  the  soft  brown  eyes  under  a 
thick  thatch  of  grey  hair.  Our  spirits 
touched,  as  our  hands  clasped.  There  were 
no  stiff  bows  of  convention's  ordering.  We 
met  like  returned  kindred.  The  Judge  rolled 
his  condescension  heavily  away  over  the 
gravel  walk,  and  I  made  room  for  my  friend 
on  the  bench  beside  me. 

We  held  no  very  definite  converse.  It  was 
more  that  I  opened  the  windows  of  my  soul 
to  flood  consciousness  with  the  radiance  of 
his  love  for  wood  and  pasture,  for  sky  and 
mountain  top.  Where  that  radiance  finds  a 
home,  celestial  reciprocity  maintains.  I 
loved  old  Mr.  Estabrook  and  he  loved  me. 

"Come,"  I  said  presently.  "You  must 
see  my  husband  now." 

He  imitated  me  in  rising,  his  kindly 
[161] 


CHANTICLEER 


smile  encouraging  me  to  say :  "  My  hus 
band's  name  is  Koger.  He's  the  loveliest 
man  — 

"  I  guessed  as  much,"  my  friend  an 
swered. 

"Which?"  I  laughed.  "  Roger,  or 
lovely  ?  " 

"  Both,"  he  said.  "  You  look  as  if  your 
husband's  name  was  Roger,  and  as  if  he  were 
lovely,  too." 

"  Good,"  I  cried,  taking  the  arm  he  of 
fered  me.  "  Our  spirits  can  have  no  secrets. 
You  know  it  already ;  but  you  make  me  think 
of  the  Psalmist  David  in  his  grandest 
moods." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  he  said,  fluttering  a  little 
with  pleasure.  "  Is  not  that  your  hus 
band  ? " 

"  Of  course  it  is.  Roger,  Roger,  come 
here !  " 

He  obeyed  me.     The  men  clasped  hands. 
Roger,  too,  had  another  friend. 
[162] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  was  in  a  delirium  of  impatience  to  show 
Mr.  Estabrook  to  Margaret.  He  seemed  the 
touchstone  of  spirituality  now.  Roger  had 
not  disappointed  me  and  neither  would  Mar 
garet,  I  knew,  though  I  was  almost  afraid  to 
put  her  to  the  test.  There  was  some  little 
difficulty  in  finding  her,  but  at  length  we 
came  upon  a  pavilion  in  which  was  a  group 
of  some  half-dozen  pretty  girls  with  one  very 
young  man  penned  in  by  their  gauzy  skirts. 
Their  occupation  was  appropriately  light 
banter,  nothing  but  that.  Margaret's  ex 
pression  was  what  might  have  been  expected 
had  I  been  a  relief  expedition  arrived  at  the 
exact  moment  when  the  last  drop  of  water 
had  been  apportioned.  She  excused  herself 
quickly  and  came  out  to  me.  I  presented 
Mr.  Estabrook.  She  looked  up  into  his  dear 
old  eyes.  Their  hands,  too,  met.  We  were 
a  party  of  four  friends. 

Presently  we  were  asked  to  select,  for  the 
rustic  supper  which  was  about  to  be  served, 
[163] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  88$ 

one  of  the  little  tables  strewn  over  the  lawn. 
Maurice  came  to  urge  Margaret  to  join  a 
group  of  girls  who  had  wound  their  gossamer 
web  about  him,  hand  and  foot,  as  only  such 
frail  young  innocence  can  bind  and  tie.  She 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  stay  with  us,  and  I 
added  my  protestations  to  hers.  Our  party 
was  so  complete,  so  exactly  what  it  should  be, 
that  I  was  willing  to  brook,  for  its  sake,  Mau 
rice's  veiled  impatience. 

The  rustic  supper  was  served  by  maids 
dressed  like  dairymaids.  Bright  tin  plates 
and  cups  were  used,  but  their  simplicity  was 
marred  somewhat  by  ornately  heavy  silver  in 
the  form  of  knives  and  forks  and  spoons. 
The  menu  was  fried  chicken  with  brown- 
bread  sandwiches;  watercress  salad  with 
pickled  artichokes,  wafers  and  cheese ;  baked 
apples  and  cream  with  gingerbread  nuts  and 
sugar  jumbles;  iced  coffee  and  tea  in 
tin  cups.  The  small  tables  were  spread 
with  coarse  crash  squares,  with  centre 
[164] 


CHANTICLEER 


decorations  of  brown  ginger- jars  filled 
with  buttercups  and  daisies,  or  with  pink 
and  white  clover.  We  were  a  very  merry 
party;  and  if  we  did  not  eat  greedily  of 
the  substantial  bounty,  it  was  merely  that 
we  were  too  busily  talking.  It  was  not  be 
cause  we  were  reserving  our  appetites  for 
what  the  Judge  had  promised  me  in  whis 
pered  confidence,  as  we  were  taking  our  seats. 
"  The  women  folks  would  have  this,"  he 
said.  "  They  read  about  it  somewhere.  It's 
all  rustic,  you  know.  But,  after  the  pastoral, 
you  will  have  my  supper." 

"  You  are  very  hospitable,"  I  murmured 
to  his  back,  for  he  had  already  begun  his 
apology  to  the  next  tableful. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  Roger  or  I 
—  we  were  all  so  united  in  our  conversation 
-  who  told  Mr.   Estabrook  about  our  new 
life.     But  one  of  us  said  that,  when  our  sim 
ple  little  home  was  completed,  it  looked,  with 
its  extended  wings,  like  a  contented  cockerel 
[165] 


CHANTICLEER 


about  to  shrill  his  happy  bragging,  so  we 
named  it  Chanticleer  on  the  spot,  and  gave 
it  a  motto  from  Thoreau,  "  I  do  not  propose 
to  write  an  ode  to  Dejection,  but  to  brag  as 
lustily  as  Chanticleer  in  the  morning,  stand 
ing  on  his  roost,  if  only  to  wake  my  neigh 
bours  up." 

"  Then  you  too  love  Thoreau  ?  "  our  lis 
tener  smiled. 

I  said,  "  Yes.  I  was  sure  you  did.  Of 
course  one  wishes  sometimes  he  was  not  so 
wilfully  pagan ;  but  I  care  more  for  him 
than  for  many  writers  that  I  never  disagree 
with,  and  beneath  the  skin  of  acerbity  there 
is  always  mellow  sweetness." 

My  answer  was  the  beaming  glance  of  ap 
proval.  That  was  the  end.  Our  happy  meal 
was  over.  Maurice  joined  us  and  we  went  to 
the  tent  where  camp-chairs  were  arranged  in 
long,  close  rows  facing  a  verdant  rostrum. 
This  was  fashioned  by  enclosing  a  square  of 
lawn  with  tubs  of  tall  shrubbery  and  great 
[166] 


CHANTICLEER 


boughs  of  evergreens  hung  with  gay  Japanese 
lanterns. 

There  was  a  little  subdued  music  from 
mandolins  behind  the  oleander  trees,  and 
then  Pan  himself  emerged  from  the  cedar 
shades,  looking  very  conscious,  whether  be 
cause  of  having  been  so  much  in  print  of  late, 
or  because  of  the  conspicuous  bearskin  robe 
covering  his  nether  limbs,  I  cannot  say.  At 
any  rate  he  played  tremulously ;  and,  behold, 
twelve  young  girls,  Agnes  and  the  Misses 
Elliott  among  them, —  I  was  about  to  say 
trooped  forth.  But  they  must  have  flown. 
They  were  butterflies,  with  gauzy  wings  and 
long  antennae  shooting  out  from  caps  that 
matched  their  diaphanous  gowns.  Agnes  was 
a  yellow  butterfly,  as  she  is  brunette.  The 
blondest  girls  were  blue,  or  green.  Guided 
by  the  soft  notes  of  Pan's  flute,  they  flew  to 
some  gigantic  red  paper  roses  which  drooped 
their  stems  upon  the  grass,  evidently  for  that 
purpose.  Here  the  butterflies  performed 
[167] 


CHANTICLEER 


gyrations  and  things,  half  dancing,  half 
gymnastic,  and  all  calculated  to  heighten  the 
colour  of  the  audience's  cheeks.  My  mind  is 
rather  hazy  as  to  what  it  was  all  about,  but  I 
know  it  lasted  a  long  time,  and  that  there  was 
a  second  scene  into  which  a  lamb  garlanded 
with  daisies  was  led  by  a  golden-haired  child 
in  a  white  frock,  and  that  the  lamb  was  de 
termined  to  play  the  leading  role  and  was  al 
ways  getting  itself  in  the  way  of  the  butter 
flies,  which,  after  the  first  act,  changed  to 
roses  with  long  green  leaves  at  their  sides, 
and  thin  gowns  in  the  colours  of  the  queen  of 
flowers  —  Jacqueminot,  Marechal  Niel,  Bon 
Silene,  and  white.  As  they  were  even  larger 
and  bolder  than  the  paper  roses  growing 
amid  rustling  foliage  in  long  rows  of  glazed 
jardinieres,  they  plucked  these  and  tossed 
them  contemptuously  about,  while  they 
danced,  and  danced,  and  danced  more.  As 
well  as  I  could  see  over  my  blushes  it  was 
still  Pan  who  discoursed  the  wailing  notes 
[  168  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


that  incited  them  to  their  revelry.  Pres 
ently  Maurice  put  Margaret's  wrap  about 
her.  "  You  are  tired,"  he  said,  "  and  the 
air  is  too  close  here  for  Mary."  We  all 
arose  quietly,  and  withdrew,  except  patient 
Mr.  Estabrook. 

Outside  the  tent  we  found  our  host  and 
hostess  hurriedly  superintending  some  later 
arrangements.  There  was  to  be  a  platform 
dance,  and  fireworks,  besides  the  spread  that 
the  Judge  could  hardly  bear  to  hear  of  our 
missing. 

"  My  sister  is  feeling  a  little  ill,"  Maurice 
explained.  "  I  cannot  allow  her  to  remain." 

"  You  see  what  it  is  to  go  out  in  your 
physician's  company,"  I  smiled,  hastily  with 
drawing  my  hand  from  the  determined  ju 
dicial  grasp. 

"  Have  some  ice-cream  now,"  our  host 
said.  "  Here,  Simmons,  get  some  ice  —  " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  we  laughed  back.  "  Thank 
you  so  much."  I  think  it  was  all  we  could 
[169] 


«33  CHANTICLEER  m 

any  of  us  do  to  keep  from  breaking  into  a 
run.  After  we  bad  gained  the  first  slope  of 
the  forest,  I  said  to  Roger :  — 

"  What  is  that  banging  noise  behind  us  ? 
ISTot  an  ice-cream  freezer  in  pursuit,  I  hope. 
O  dear !  There !  I  am  not  at  all  like 
Moses." 

"  Why,  Molly,"  he  laughed.  "  Who  ever 
supposed  you  were  ?  " 

I  tossed  up  my  head  rather  haughtily.  "  I 
am  a  great  deal  meeker  than  I  once  was,  re 
ceiving  other  people's  opinions  and  standards 
in  a  really  lowly  spirit  —  sometimes." 

Then  we  both  laughed,  and  I  caught  his 
arm  to  skip  him  over  the  pine  needle  path,  in 
spirited  imitation  of  the  flower-girls. 

It  was  a  lovely  night.  A  beneficent  full 
moon  flooded  the  winding,  tree-lined  walk 
with  its  mystic  glory.  A  soft  breeze  flut 
tered  the  alder  bushes  and  sprayed  us  with 
the  faint  scent  of  clematis.  Roger  and  I  had 
started  on  in  advance  of  the  others.  After 
[170] 


CHANTICLEER 


my  one  gay  outburst,  I  strolled  leisurely 
along  upon  his  arm,  cooing  happy,  low- 
voiced  prophecies  to  him.  Maurice's  stand 
had  been  wine  in  the  blood  of  us  both. 

"  This  night,  this  moon,  this  romantic 
walk  will  do  the  rest,"  I  gurgled.  "  Go  as 
slowly  as  possible,  Roger.  Sauntering  is  the 
only  pace  for  sentiment." 

"  How  glorious  it  all  is,"  my  husband 
said,  drawing  in  a  deep  breath  of  satisfac 
tion.  "  I  wish  every  fellow  had  time  to  make 
love  to  his  wife.  Do  you  know,  dearest,  you 
were  the  prettiest  woman  there  to-night  ?  " 

"  Why,  Roger,"  I  murmured,  transported 
with  delight.  "  I  was  wondering,  all  the 
evening,  how  such  a  handsome  man  could 
care  for  a  black  little  creature  like  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  he  cried  in  pained  pro 
test. 

"  But,  Roger,"  I  went  on,  drawing  closer 
to  him.  "  It  is  not  so  much  —  looks  that  I 
mean.  You  are  so  —  so  —  noble."  The 


CHANTICLEER 


word  came  hard.  It  is  always  difficult  to  ex 
tol  those  we  love  best.  "  In  all  the  seven 
years  I  have  lived  with  you,  I  have  never 
known  you  to  even  think  a  really  petty 
thing." 

He  pressed  the  hand  on  his  arm  with  a  rev 
erence  that  awed  me.  "  No  man  could  be 
bad  with  such  a  wife,"  he  whispered. 

We  were  very  quiet  after  that.  But  the 
more  familiar  landmarks  became,  the  more 
slowly  we  walked.  Each  moment  was  a  ce 
lestial  era.  We  could  not  bear  the  thought 
of  a  finale.  I  lifted  my  head  to  look  and  to 
listen  to  the  night,  poignantly  conscious  not 
only  of  my  own  heart-throbs,  but  of  my  hus 
band's  too.  "  If  it  might  be  always  so,"  I 
sighed. 

"  And  we  cast  anchor  here  through  the 
eternities,"  Roger  answered  fervently. 

"  How  tired  you  must  be  to-night,  Mary," 
Margaret's  voice  called  to  us.  "  Would  you 
care  if  we  went  first  ?  " 

[172] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  %& 

We  stepped  aside,  and  they  passed  us, 
darting  off  through  the  moonlight  like  a  pair 
of  belated  wheelmen. 

Roger  and  I  stood  for  a  moment  looking 
blankly  into  each  other's  faces.  Then  my 
husband  bent  over  and  kissed  my  trembling 
lips. 


[173] 


CHAPTEK   XIII 

WE  had  asked  Mr.  Estabrook  to  come  to 
us  very  soon.  He  did  so.  It  was  not  more 
than  eight  o'clock  on  the  morning  after  the 
fete  champetre  when  his  kind  eyes  looked 
in  at  our  door.  We  were  glad.  I  saw  him 
first,  and  after  I  had  welcomed  him  warmly 
I  called  to  Margaret  and  to  Roger  to  come 
quickly. 

They  were  as  surprised  and  as  delighted 
as  I  had  been.  Our  guest  beamed  with  tran 
quil  pleasure  through  all  our  eager  greet 
ings.  Then  he  told  us  he  had  found  a 
deserted  humming-bird's  nest  as  he  came 
thither.  "  Would  we  care  to  go  to  see  it  ? 
It  was  not  very  far  away,  and  so  much  pret 
tier  where  it  hung  than  if  he  should  bring  it 
to  us." 

[174] 


CHANTICLEER 


Of  course  we  wished  to  go.  Humming 
birds'  nests  are  nature's  crown  jewels ;  some 
of  us  had  never  seen  one  except  in  collec 
tions. 

As  \ve  started  off  I  noticed  Maurice 
wandering  toward  the  observatory,  looking 
rather  disconsolate.  I  told  the  others  to  go 
on,  and  went  back  where  I  could  call  an  in 
vitation  to  him  to  join  us.  I  knew  he  would 
not  care  for  the  nest,  but  he  might  like  the 
walk. 

Almost  the  first  words  he  said  when  he 
reached  me  were,  "  Mary,  I  must  leave  you 
to-morrow." 

"  Why,  Maurice,"  I  gasped,  "  you  take 
away  my  breath." 

He  smiled  somewhat  wanly.  "  There  is 
but  one  week  left  of  my  vacation.  I  think 
I  will  spend  that  at  the  Bay." 

I  knew  he  had  been  receiving  invitations 
for  yachting  expeditions  and  house-parties 
to  every  point  of  the  compass  all  during  his 


CHANTICLEER 


stay  with  us.  He  is  exceedingly  popular 
and  engrossingly  preempted.  We  had  won 
dered  considerably  that  we  could  keep  him 
as  long  as  we  had. 

"  You  will  leave  an  ugly  gap  behind, 
Maurice,"  I  said.  "  You  seem  part  of  our 
life  now." 

He  wheeled  about  to  look  in  my  face. 
"  Mary,"  he  began  passionately,  "  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  all  this  has  been  to  me.  But 
I  really  can  stand  it  no  longer." 

"  It  must  be  lonely  for  you,"  I  murmured, 
trying  to  keep  the  hurt  out  of  my  voice. 

"  I  do  not  mean  that,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
your  happiness  together,  Roger  and  you.  I 
cannot  endure  to  watch  it  one  day  more." 

He  was  looking  down  the  path  where 
Margaret  walked  between  the  two  men,  her 
broad  shoulders  rising  above  the  sumach 
branches.  My  eyes  followed  his.  "  Mau 
rice  !  "  I  said,  starting  toward  him. 

He  nodded  his  head. 

[176] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  caught  his  hand  for  a  sympathetic  in 
stant.  "  Have  you  —  have  you  told  her  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  No,  thank  fate,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  I 
have  not  been  quite  such  a  fool." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know.  That  sort  of 
woman  can  never  be  reckoned  upon." 

"  Why,  Mary,"  he  exclaimed  fiercely, 
"  she  cares  more  for  that  old  codger  down 
there  than  she  does  for  me." 

I  appreciated  his  suffering  too  keenly 
to  note  the  aspersion  of  my  friend.  I 
merely  repeated  that  he  could  not  be  sure, 
without  the  test  of  question. 

He  stopped  quite  still  to  stare  at  me  with 
deliberate  savageness.  "  Would  any  living 
woman  have  walked  at  that  pace  last  night 
with  a  man  she  cared  for  ?  " 

"  No,   Maurice,   candidly  she  would  not. 
You  are  quite  right,"  I  answered.     "  There 
is  no  balm  for  this  hurt.     I  can  only  pack 
your  trunk  and  wish  you  Godspeed." 
[177] 


CHANTIOLEER 


I  was  very  anxious  to  ask  what  it  all 
meant,  but  of  course  I  could  not  tlien. 
Presently  my  brother  said  faintly,  "  I 
would  stay  the  week  if  I  thought  it  would 
do  any  good." 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  Your  first  plan  is 
best.  We  shall  miss  you  sorely;  that  may 
be  the  awakener  of  more  serious  emotions." 
I  felt  that  if  he  had  only  been  in  love  since 
the  night  before  he  could  hardly  have  ex 
hausted  his  powers  of  endurance.  Perhaps 
my  face  registered  this  thought,  for  he 
flung  out  the  ejaculation:  — 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  been  patient  !  " 

"Patient?"  I  cried.  "Why,  Maurice, 
what  is  twelve  hours  of  patience  ?  " 

He  turned,  and  I  followed  to  walk  back 
over  the  ground  we  had  come.  "  You  said 
twelve  hours,  Mary.  I  suppose  you  meant 
twelve  months.  But  it  is  more  than  that. 
Ever  since  I  first  saw  her,  two  years  ago,  I 
have  suffered  this  torture." 
[178] 


CHANTICLEER 


He  was  so  good-looking  and  well-groomed, 
so  capable  of  enjoyment,  and  his  successful 
life  so  crowded  with  pleasures,  that  he 
seemed  an  absurd  victim  of  torture.  I  al 
most  smiled.  But  pain  in  young  eyes  is  too 
incongruous  to  be  unmoving.  When  I 
looked  at  him  narrowly  every  thought  but 
pity  died. 

"  This  is  all  an  enigma  to  me,  Maurice," 
I  said  presently.  "  I  suppose  you  are  still 
talking  of  Margaret." 

"  Whom  else  —  '  he  began,  then  stopped 
and  changed  colour.  "  She  could  not  pos 
sibly  think  herself  —  but  as  if  she  cared ! 
She  would  dance  at  my  wedding  to-morrow. 
The  Lymans  have  been  kind  and  invited  me 
to  their  camp.  The  sister  is  phenomenally 
beautiful.  I  always  enjoy  Avatching  her. 
But  I  do  hope  you  —  and  everybody  (that  is, 
if  she  cares)  —  understand  that  I  only  went 
as  the  most  casual  acquaintance.  Young  En- 
derson  was  nearly  always  there,  too." 
[179] 


*S  CHANTICLEER  8% 

"  But  I  should  not  think  you  would  have 
wanted  to  do  it,  Maurice,  if  you  cared  for 
—  her,"  I  argued  weakly. 

"  I  did  not  especially,  even  at  first,  but 
I  had  no  excuse  to  off er.  And  after  —  Mar 
garet  came,  I  hoped  she  might  be  a  little 
sorry.  It  sounds  asinine  in  connection  with 
her,  but  most  women  would  have  been  a  bit 
piqued  perhaps." 

Sometimes  I  am  very  dense,  and  then  I 
am  tiresome.  "  Maurice,"  I  said,  "  you 
know  I  believe  you,  but  you  certainly  treas 
ured  that  pencil  drawing." 

"  Of  course  I  did  and  I  do,"  he  answered 
gallantly.  "  It  is  a  charming  little  sketch." 
There  was  an  afterglow  of  mawkishness 
that  stirred  my  blood  jealously  for  Mar 
garet 

"  It  looks  no  more  like  the  Vosenkill  than 
it  looks  like  "Willow  Creek,"  I  cried. 

He  stared  blankly.  "It  is  Willow 
Creek,"  he  said. 

[180] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  When  did  Agnes  Birdsell  ever  see  Wil 
low  Creek  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  I  have  no  notion  what  Miss  Birdsell  has 
seen  or  left  unseen,"  he  answered  with  ris 
ing  dignity.  "  Margaret  made  me  that 
drawing.  It  shows  a  great  deal  of  artistic 
talent." 

"  Maurice,"  I  said,  "  this  explains  much. 
I  do  not  doubt  your  affection  now."  And 
indeed  I  did  not.  "  Margaret  is  not  the 
sort  of  girl  to  be  won  by  any  of  the  old 
weapons  of  love's  warfare,  jealousy  or  even 
devotion.  You  must  make  her  proud  of 
you.  Successful  surgical  operations  will 
work  wonders.  A  little  ridicule  won't  hurt 
your  cause,  and  it  must  be  braced  at  every 
point  by  dogged  determination." 

"  Thank  you  for  everything,  Mary,"  he 
said  ;  "  your  advice  and  your  sympathy  and 
all.  I  shall  always  be  obliged  to  Roger  and 
you  for  letting  me  see  how  happy  a  husband 
and  wife  may  be."  He  changed  colour  at  the 
[181] 


CHANTICLEER 


sacred  words,  and  I  smiled  gratitude  and 
encouragement  to  him  through  tears. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  would  better  join 
the  others  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  And  then,  when 
we  had  nearly  reached  that  busy  group  of 
investigators,  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  liked 
the  little  drawing." 


[182] 


CHAPTEK   XIV 

MAUEICE  was  too  serious  in  his  love  to 
ridicule  Margaret  as  I  had  suggested, 
though  he  tried  with  fervent  exactitude  to 
carry  out  the  other  hints.  I  had  not  meant, 
by  determination,  sticking  to  her  like  a 
hurr,  but  so  he  interpreted  the  advice.  I 
was  feverishly  nervous  at  seeing  him  con 
stantly  in  her  way  for  the  next  few  hours. 
The  poor  girl  was  scarcely  granted  space  in 
which  to  breathe,  so  completely  was  she 
hedged  about  by  his  broad  shoulders. 

I  sent  him  with  some  word  of  message  to 
the  farmer  who  brings  our  necessary  stores, 
and  then  I  slipped  out  to  join  him  when 
Margaret  was  engaged  indoors  with  her  vo 
luminous  correspondence.  I  could  not  let 
[183] 


SB  CHANTICLEER  W 

her  guess  that  she  was  the  central  figure  in 
a  plot. 

"  Do  you  still  think  I  would  better  go 
away  to-morrow,  Mary  ?  "  my  brother  asked 
wistfully. 

"  By  all  means,"  I  answered  firmly. 
"  And,  Maurice  dear,  do  not  believe  me  in 
delicate,  but  I  did  not  exactly  mean  by  per 
sistency,  standing  about  always  close  enough 
for  her  to  touch.  That  might  get  to  be  a 
little  —  a  little  —  I  could  not  think  of  a 
gentler  word,  so  I  was  obliged  to  say 
"  nauseating." 

Maurice  turned  his  starlike  eyes,  pathetic 
with  tender  misery,  full  upon  me.  "  I  hope 
you  are  not  giving  me  wrong  advice,  Mary," 
he  said.  "  I  certainly  am  growing  confused. 
Remember  my  whole  life  is  ruined  if  I 
make  a  mistake  now." 

My  head  swam  giddily.  But  every 
woman  is  officious.  To  interfere  in  affairs 
of  the  heart  is  the  breath  of  her  delicate  nos- 
[184] 


333  CHANTICLEER  E& 

trils.  Frightened  as  I  was,  I  stood  my 
ground.  "  You  must  ask  her  to  marry  you 
before  you  go,"  I  said  stoutly. 

"  Why,  Mary,"  he  cried,  "  I  might  as 
well  think  of  asking  you." 

"  One  cannot  foresee  what  such  a  girl  will 
do.  And  then,  at  the  worst,  you  will  know 
just  where  you  stand." 

"  I  know  only  too  well  now,"  he  struck  in 
desperately. 

"  Possibly,"  I  agreed,  "  but  it  will  be 
best,  in  any  event,  to  have  her  getting  accus 
tomed  to  the  idea.  Our  more  intellectual 
young  women  are  not  like  the  old-fashioned 
sort  that  Dr.  Holmes  spoke  of  as  always  hav 
ing  an  answer  trembling  on  their  lips  for 
every  unmarried  man  they  meet.  I  do  not 
really  suppose  Margaret  has  ever  seriously 
considered  marriage  for  herself,  and  I  think 
there  is  a  tacit  agreement  between  her  and 
her  sister  Claire  not  to  marry.  They  are  per 
fectly  contented  in  their  family  life  —  the 
[185] 


m  CHANTICLEER  S& 

daughters  and  a  sympathetic  mother.  I 
have  heard  all  their  plans  for  a  congenial 
independent  future  together.  The  sooner 
some  attractive  suitor  presents  another  view 
of  happiness  the  better.  She  must  not 
become  irrevocably  confirmed  in  her 
opinion." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  willing  to  do  anything 
that  has  hope  in  it;  but  I  confess  this  does 
seem  utter  folly." 

"  It  will  be/'  I  answered,  "  if  you  go 
about  it  in  that  hopeless  spirit.  You  must 
assume  a  manner  of  command.  As  if  the 
thing  were  altogether  feasible;  if  not  now, 
why,  in  the  end,  there  would  be  no  escaping 
it.  Not  a  vain  man's  point  of  view,  but  a 
fatalist's.  Give  her  worth  its  full  due,  of 
course.  I  know  of  a  case  where  a  man  pro 
posed  futilely  to  the  lady  of  his  heart  on 
five  different  occasions.  On  the  sixth  he 
remarked,  '  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ask 
you.  Will  you  marry  me  ? '  She  said  Yes. 
[186] 


CHANTICLEER 


My  dear,  that  waiting  affection  had  grown  to 
be  so  vital  a  part  of  her  existence  she  could 
not  have  lived  without  it." 

Maurice  shook  his  handsome  head.  "  It 
does  not  seem  to  me  that  I  would  ask  even 
Margaret  six  times.  But  maybe  I  would. 
I  should  not  have  expected,  once,  to  become 
this  meek  ass  that  I  am  now.  When  I  begin 
to  bray,  pen  me  up  with  the  cow.  I  sha'n't 
care." 

"  Your  fate  does  not  lie  that  way,"  I 
said,  patting  his  arm  caressingly.  "  It  con 
verges  with  Margaret's.  You  just  see. 
There!  I  think  I  won't  go  any  farther. 
Whatever  we  do,  we  must  not  let  her  guess 
collusion."  He  took  off  his  hat  gravely,  and 
I  slipped  away. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose,  if  I  was  to  get 
Maurice  off  the  next  day.  So  when  Marga 
ret  started  down  the  path  to  meet  the  man 
who  brings  the  mails  late  in  the  afternoon, 
I  motioned  my  brother  to  go  with  her.  It 
[1ST] 


CHANTICLEER 


was  a  bold  move.  My  heart  pounded  like  a 
horse's  hoofs  on  a  hard  road. 

I  could  think  of  nothing  else,  so  I  inter 
rupted  Roger.  He  laid  down  his  pen,  for  I 
was  drawing  the  long  breath  of  garrulity  as 
I  came. 

"  Roger,"  I  whispered,  "  Maurice  is  in 
love  with  Margaret.  And  so  he  is  going 
away  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  he  ought  to  go  away,"  was  his  an 
swer,  "  if  he  has  fallen  in  love  with  two 
women  in  three  weeks.  There  are  no  more 
here,  so  he  must  seek  new  quarters  for  next 
week,  must  he  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  are  cross  because  I  dis 
turbed  you,"  I  pouted.  "  But  it  is  more 
than  three  weeks,  and  he  has  not  been  in 
love  with  two  women.  It  has  been  Margaret 
all  along.  Two  whole  years  —  and  she  made 
the  sketch  —  and  it  was  not  the  Vosenkill  at 
all.  It  was  Willow  Creek,  and  Maurice 
thinks  it  is  charming.  You  need  not  look  so 
[188] 


JUS  CHANTICLEER  BBS 

contemptuous.  They  are  good,  honourable 
people,  if  they  don't  know  very  much  about 
art," 

Roger  laughed.  "  I  don't  suppose  they 
would  steal  our  spoons.  But  I  should  think 
Maurice  might  know  something  about  per 
spective,  if  he  is  a  specialist." 

"  He  has  enough  else  to  think  of,"  I  an 
swered  coldly.  "  He  has  cared  for  Margaret 
all  this  time.  He  knows  she  doesn't  love 
him,  and  now  he  has  gone  to  ask  her  to 
marry  him.  7  am  sorry  for  Maurice." 

Roger  stared  at  me.  I  suppose  I  was  a 
little  wild.  "  Why  should  he  ask  her  to 
marry  him  if  he  knows  she  doesn't  love 
him  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"I  told  him  to,"  I  said. 

"  Mary,"  Roger  burst  out,  "  explain  ra 
tionally  what  this  is  all  about." 

I  tried  to  do  so.  But  there  were  so  many 
"  this  afternoons,"  and  "  the  day  before  yes 
terdays,"  and  "  last  summers/'  as  there  al- 
[189] 


CHANTICLEER 


ways  are  when  one  is  not  quite  sure  one  has 
been  very  wise,  that  I  think  Roger  was  con 
fused,  and  I  know  I  was.  Before  my  re 
cital  had  closed  Maurice  came  to  look  for 
me.  One  glance  at  his  face  was  sufficient 
to  make  my  footsteps  toward  him,  drag 
heavily. 

"  Well,  Mary,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  we  were 
alone  on  the  hig  rock,  "  it  is  over." 

"  Not  over,"  I  answered  stoutly,  though 
with  trembling  lips,  "  just  begun,  Maurice." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Though  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have 
submitted  you  to  this,  for  some  possible 
future  good  - 

He  stopped  me  generously.  "  You  are 
an  angel,  whether  a  mistaken  one  or  not. 
Don't  worry  about  me.  Margaret  is  not  dis 
posed  to,  and  I  sha'n't  let  you." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

Maurice  straightened  himself  against  the 
old  pine.  "  Oh,  all  those  things  you  said  she 
[190] 


CHANTICLEER 


might;  about  an  independent  existence  be 
ing  necessary  to  her  nature,  and  the  unlike 
lihood  of  finding  any  other  relations  so 
congenial  as  her  home  life;  and  everything 
that  a  practical  man  could  not  make  head 
nor  tail  of.  I  suppose  she  meant  she  was 
too  happy  as  it  is.  But  her  first  look  of 
surprise  was  enough  for  me.  I  saw  she  did 
not  want  me,  and  I  did  not  seem  to  care 
why." 

"  What  has  become  of  her  ?  "  I  asked. 
"We  fell  in  with  Miss  Birdsell  and  Mr. 
Enderson,  looking  for  the  letter-carrier  too, 
and  I  left  her  with  them.    You  think  I  ought 
to  go  to-rnorrow,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     The  earlier  the  better." 
"  Very  well.     I  suppose  you  are  right." 
"  Maurice,"  I  said,   "  I  am  sure  I  have 
not  made  a  mistake,  but  I  am  frightened 
now." 

He  took  my  hand  in  his.     "  Dear  little 
sister,"    he    said,    "  whatever    happens    you 
[191] 


CHANTICLEER 


have  nothing  to  regret.  You  have  given  me 
your  whole  sympathy,  and  that  is  not  done 
every  day." 

Men  have  even  more  of  the  nobler  traits 
than  women,  I  believe,  but  unselfishness  is 
not  one  of  them.  I  had  always  supposed 
Roger  had  a  monopoly  of  this  virtue;  but, 
now  that  I  saw  Maurice's  face  full  only  of 
concern  for  me,  I  felt  that  even  Margaret 
was  unworthy  of  hirn,  but  that,  if  he 
wanted  her,  he  should  have  her,  if  only 
strength  were  left  me  to  fight  with  fate. 
"  You  are  just  like  Roger,  Maurice,"  I  said 
with  a  sob  in  my  voice. 

"  Hardly  that,  I  am  afraid,"  he  answered, 
pressing  my  hand  with  fraternal  kindness. 
"  But,  Mary  —  don't  worry  about  this.     It 
is  not  of  the  least  importance.     I  shall  prob-- 
ably  forget  all  about  it  in  a  day  or  so." 


[192] 


MAUEICE  went  away  the  next  morning, 
with  a  face  that  did  not  look  as  if  he  were  in 
a  fair  way  to  forget  his  troubles. 

Eoger's  own  taste  is  so  nicely  balanced 
that  he  is  altogether  intolerant  of  errors  in 
appreciation.  I  accused  him  afterward  of 
snubbing  his  brother  because  he  chanced  to 
value  a  rather  faulty  drawing.  Of  course 
my  accusation  was  denied.  Roger  said  he 
did  not  suppose  Maurice  would  care  to  be 
coddled  by  him  as  if  he  were  some  lovesick 
swain,  implying  that  one  was  enough  to  play 
that  part. 

"  I  believe,  Mary,"  he  declared,  "  that  you 
fed  him  with  a  spoon  and  put  sugar  on  his 
bread."  It  was  my  turn  to  deny  now,  but  I 
[193] 


CHANTICLEER 


knew  it  was  best  for  the  cause  to  have  Mau 
rice's  place  empty,  though  the  maternal  in 
me  did  cry  aloud  when  his  large-eyed  misery 
marched  off  alone. 

It  was  difficult  to  keep  a  sharp  note  out  of 
my  voice  now  and  then  in  talking  to  Marga 
ret.  I  may  have  misjudged  her,  but  I  felt 
that,  instead  of  missing  our  brother,  she  was 
relieved  by  his  absence.  I  have  often  heard 
her  say:  "I  do  not  find  men  so  congenial, 
some  way,  as  women.  Of  course  Roger  is 
not  meant.  He  is  always  —  not  at  all  like  a 
woman,  but  fully  as  charming." 

I  was  sure  her  unconcern  at  this  momen 
tous  time  was  not  assumed.  I  missed  my 
brother  with  pronounced  tragedy,  until  Roger 
gave  ine  a  hint  that  I  was  rather  playing  to 
the  galleries,  and  then,  some  way,  I  could 
not  do  it  at  all.  It  is  so  hard  to  be  anvthinsr 

K  O 

but  hopeful  in  this  Eden.     My  prayer  for 
Maurice's   happiness   became   the   contented 
chirp  of  a  trustful  robin. 
[194] 


CHANTICLEER 


Margaret  went  upon  a  tour  of  solitary  ob 
servation  one  morning  while  I  was  briefly  en 
gaged.  We  found  that  she  did  not  call  our 
flower  intimates  quite  so  much  by  their  for 
mal  botanical  names  as  she  had  done.  Some 
of  the  poetry  of  nature  was  beginning  to 
glow  in  her  blood.  We  might  yet  instil  an 
other  form  of  sentiment,  I  thought,  when  she 
came  back  from  what  we  call  the  Clematis 
Jungle,  vowing  she  had  no  other  love  but 
that.  She  gave  me  also  then  this  short  human 
record  :  — 

"  Mr.  Estabrook  was  sitting  on  the  knoll 
that  looks  past  the  creek  over  the  south  side 
pastures.  He  was  startled  and  exceedingly 
perturbed  when  I  called  out  to  him.  And, 
Molly,  this  is  spotless  truth:  he  certainly 
hid  something  behind  the  bushes  there  before 
he  came  down  to  join  me.  For  a  long  time 
after  he  seemed  nervous  and  shaken." 

"  The  place  is  now  complete,"  I  mocked, 
"  if  we  have  a  mystery  too.  He  has  probably 
[195] 


CHANTICLEER 


been  burying  a  dead  kitten.  Run  back  and 
ask  him  to  dinner." 

It  was  a  day  of  domestic  excitement.  We 
were  to  try  for  the  first  time  our  own  sweet 
corn  that  had  been  raised  by  our  hands  with 
patient  care  and  exultant  joy. 

Then  Margaret  and  I  had  made,  very  early 
in  the  cool  morning,  rival  loaves  of  brown 
bread.  She  had  had  the  benefit  of  more 
cooking-school  lessons  than  I,  but  I  was  older 
than  she.  It  remained  to  be  seen  which  of 
those  light,  crusty  squares  would  prove  more 
toothsome.  I  had  a  presentiment,  some  way, 
that  mine  would  be  better,  but  I  noticed  that 
Margaret  went  oftenest  to  look  at  hers  when 
they  were  set  out  to  cool. 

To  cap  these  inspiriting  events,  was  not 
this  the  day  in  which  the  little  churn  for 
which  we  had  sent  to  town  elected  to  appear  ? 
It  held  about  a  gallon  of  our  rich  Alderney 
cream.  It  turned  with  a  crank  and  was  alto 
gether  the  most  fascinating  of  small  imple- 
[196] 


CHANTICLEER 


ments.  It  entertained  us  out  under  the 
sweet  hemlocks  back  of  our  house,  Margaret 
and  Mr.  Estabrook  and  me.  And  while  we 
were  rhythmically  turning  we  could  look  up 
into  the  clematis-crowned  knoll.  My  fat 
robin  censor  perched  on  a  neighbouring 
bough  to  nod  encouragement.  I  was  glad  he 
was  pleased,  for  he  had  grown  critical  since 
he  first  followed  us  from  his  old  haunts  on 
the  edge  of  the  woods  in  that  unfriendly  atti 
tude  of  robins  amid  a  wilder  environment. 
ISTow  he  had  brought  a  mate  and  set  up 
housekeeping  near  us  he  had  assumed  the 
privileges  of  confidential  neighbour,  and  I 
was  growing  fearful  of  his  blinking,  critical 
eye.  So  I  was  glad,  as  I  say,  to  find  it  glit 
tering  approval  of  our  occupation. 

I  inaugurated  the  proceeding.  The  others 
were  company,  to  be  sure,  but  then  it  was  my 
churn.  Margaret  gave  up  her  place  to  Mr. 
Estabrook  sooner  than  I  felt  that  even  he  de 
served.  A  serious  fault  of  men  is  that  they 
[  197  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


never  know  when  to  stop,  once  they  begin 
anything  like  that.  Beaming  complacently 
through  his  eyeglasses,  Mr.  Estabrook 
churned  and  churned.  Finally  in  response 
to  my  wistful  glances  he  did  say,  "  I  am 
afraid,  my  dear,  I  may  be  keeping  you  from 
this."  I  did  not  even  whisper  ISTo.  I  slid 
into  his  place  with  honest  alacrity,  but,  just 
as  my  eager  grasp  was  laid  upon  the  handle 
of  that  alluring  crank,  Roger  hurried  out  to 
us. 

"  Let  me  do  that,  Mary,"  he  said.  "  You 
must  be  tired."  ^ 

That  husband  of  mine  churned  until  all 
the  delightful  yellow  mass  had  come  —  was 
there.  The  butter  was  made.  It  was  Roger 
who  had  felt  the  thrill  of  the  golden  arrival 
through  his  pulses.  Four  eager  heads  bent 
over  the  open  churn.  It  was  tremendously 
exciting.  Then  I  brought  the  wooden  bowl, 
and,  with  much  verbal  assistance  from  the 
men,  transferred  the  butter  to  that  for  the 
[  198  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


making,  which  none  of  the  others  seemed  to 
covet.  It  was  charming  occupation,  though, 
working  and  moulding  that  soft,  rich,  yellow 
stuff,  pressing  out  the  buttermilk  and  finally 
sculping  it  into  an  orthodox  roll.  We  were 
so  impatient  to  try  it  that  we  concluded  to 
have  our  meal  at  once.  This  was  to  consist 
of  the  young,  tender,  deliciously  sweet  corn, 
the  fresh  brown  bread  wdth  the  new  butter, 
and  glasses  of  cold,  rich  milk.  Just  as  the 
corn  began  its  savoury  boiling  there  was  a 
stir  outside  of  our  home,  and,  behold !  Miss 
Amanda  Decker  evolved.  %> 

I  had  written  her,  early  in  the  summer, 
begging  that  she  would  come  to  us  whenever 
she  was  moved  to  do  so.  Her  inclination  had 
shaped  itself  at  dawn  that  very  day,  and  so, 
by  two  different  farm-wagon  routes,  she  had 
wound  her  way  to  us.  The  last  stage  of  the 
journey  had  been  under  the  escort  of  our 
letter-carrier  —  the  boy  who  lives  in  the 
homestead  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  forest 
[199] 


CHANTICLEER 


as  if  it  might  be  our  lodge.  I  was  glad  she 
acknowledged  our  freedom  sufficiently  to 
send  no  warning.  The  surprise  was  delight 
ful. 

All  through  this  fine  morning  the  shadow 
of  commonplaces  lurked.  Duty  was  calling 
us  to  the  Lyman  camp.  Those  neighbours 
had  surprised  us  by  appearing,  the  evening 
before,  to  pay  a  farewell  visit.  The  ladies  of 
the  party  were  hungering  for  some  sort  of 
excitement,  while  the  head  of  the  family  was 
depressed  into  active  melancholy  by  his  pres 
ent  environment.  They  could  endure  it  no 
longer,  they  announced  rather  resentfully,  as 
if  we  were  responsible  for  their  sufferings. 
The  example  of  our  happy  condition,  which 
had  misled  them,  was,  we  could  see,  a  griev 
ance  which  they  were  making  heroic  efforts  to 
conceal. 

Under  such  circumstances  I  had  no  voice 
to  refuse  the  vague  offer  of  many  things  that 
would  hardly  "  be  worth  moving,"  but  that 
[200] 


CHANTICLEER 


might  serve  our  purpose.  I  knew  the  sugges 
tion  was  a  covert  stab  at  the  clean,  bare  room 
spaces  we  valu,e,  and  my  taste  rose  up  in  re 
bellion  at  the  thought  of  poor  Chanticleer 
becoming  a  beast  of  burden  to  a  motley  col 
lection  of  useless  traps. 

Roger  was  impervious  to  alarm.  His 
whole  mind  was  given  to  following  up  Mr. 
Lyman's  intention  of  never  returning  to  the 
Vosenkill,  by  the  purchase  of  his  land  here. 
George  Lyman  is  a  promising  painter,  a  fine 
draughtsman  and  a  sympathetic  colourist,  but 
the  Central  Park  in  early  spring  is  much 
more  to  his  taste  than  the  bosky  glen  where 
he  had  settled  for  inspiration. 

I  need  not  have  been  alarmed.  Mrs.  Ly 
man  is  not  inordinately  generous.  We  found 
that  the  most  her  prudence  could  collect  was 
a  pile  of  paper-covered  novels.  "  They  are 
not  worth  much,"  she  said  shamelessly,  "  but 
they  serve  to  kill  time." 

I  started.  We  were  so  remote  from  that 
[201] 


CHANTICLEER 


point  of  view.  The  words  of  him  who  knew 
so  well  how  to  live  rang  in  my  ears,  "  As  if 
any  one  could  kill  time  without  injuring 
eternity." 

While  Roger  and  Mr.  Lyman  were  com 
pleting  business  arrangements,  Mrs.  Lyman 
called  me  aside  elaborately  for  "  a  little  can 
did  remonstrance."  She  was  disturbed,  she 
said,  by  the  thought  of  our  remaining  in  that 
isolation  through  the  autumn.  She  knew,  of 
course,  we  could  not  endure  it  during  the 
winter,  as  we  now  expected  to  do;  but  she 
thought  it  was  wrong  to  shut  oneself  away 
thus  for  even  six  months  from  one's  fellow- 
man.  We  were  placed  in  this  world,  each 
with  his  special  duties  toward  the  race.  She 
had  an  odd  little  trick  always  of  pressing  her 
hand  to  her  side  in  talking,  and  it  seemed 
now  that  from  there  she  grasped  whole  hand- 
fuls  of  these  platitudes.  They  certainly  had 
not  been  filtered  through  the  brain. 

I  was  thoroughly  exasperated  at  the  impli- 
[202] 


CHANTICLEER 


cation.  How  much  good  would  this  party  do 
their  fellow-man  in  the  selfish  routine  of  an 
extravagantly  fashionable  hotel,  I  thought. 
Our  simple  mode  of  living  was  enabling  us  to 
carry  on  charities  on  a  much  more  extensive 
scale  than  we  had  ever  before  attempted. 

We  had  definite  plans  arranged  for  en 
tertaining  several  instalments  of  fresh-air 
children,  and  a  number  of  the  objects  of 
Roger's  special  sympathy,  boy  clerks  who 
would  get  no  vacation  otherwise.  He  had 
proposed  to  give  a  dozen  active  young  fel 
lows  opportunity  to  stretch  their  cramped 
legs  in  our  free  world.  Roger  unmindful  of 
his  fellow-man ! 

We  had  been  expecting  to  buy  a  large  tent 
for  the  purpose,  but  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
me  that  the  one  we  were  in  would  be  ex 
cellent  for  our  use,  and,  as  Mrs.  Lyman 
was  desirous  of  helping  humanity,  she  would 
be  delighted  to  lend  it. 

I  broached  the  subject  buoyantly.  My  lis- 
[203] 


CHANTICLEER 


tener's  face  fell.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  really, 
my  dear,  we  are  very  nice  about  that  sort  of 
thing,  George  and  I.  And  I  do  not  think  we 
could-  ever  bear  to  use  the  tent  again,  if  any 
body  we  did  not  know  —  " 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  interrupted,  "  and  think 
no  more  about  the  request.  It  would  be 
wiser  for  us  to  buy  one  outright  We  will 
wish  to  do  this  every  year."  My  indignation 
braced  me  to  decline  the  offered  novels.  I 
said  we  had  very  little  time  to  read.  Mrs. 
Lyman  and  Miss  Birdsell,  and  even  Mr.  Ly- 
man,  opened  their  eyes  at  this,  but  they  saw 
that  I  meant  it,  so  they  said  nothing,  though 
they  each  had  that  expression  of  "  giving  us 
up,"  which  is  condescension's  superlative  de 
gree. 

We  were  surprised  to  learn  that  the  Ender- 
sons,  too,  were  about  to  abandon  the  wroods. 
"  They  declare,  if  we  go,  they  go  ;  that  one 
night  down  here  alone  with  the  whippoor- 
wills  would  mean  a  madhouse,"  George  Ly- 
[  204  ], 


CHANTICLEER 


man  explained.  "  When  shall  we  look  for 
you  in  town  ?  " 

"  Almost  any  time  as  a  visitor.  Never,  I 
hope,  as  a  resident,"  Roger  answered,  and  we 
turned  away  toward  our  other  neighbours. 
Mr.  Enderson  had  repeatedly  invited  us  to  a 
private  view  of  the  studies  he  had  been  mak 
ing  of  the  Vosenkill,  and  we  hurried  off  now 
with  an  unconscious  feeling  that  every  min 
ute  counted  in  polite  show  of  interest. 

Miss  Birdsell  volunteered  to  accompany 
us,  and,  as  we  trooped  along  in  garrulous 
pairs,  she  kept  me  back  to  tell  me  of  her  en 
gagement  to  Percy  Enderson.  I  looked  into 
her  happy,  smiling  face  to  wonder  if  she  had 
ever  cared  at  all  for  Maurice.  The  result  of 
my  study  was  that  it  makes  very  little  differ 
ence  to  that  type  of  girl  to  whom  she  is  en 
gaged.  It  is  the  fact  itself,  not  the  object, 
that  interests  her.  I  think  very  probably 
Maurice's  superior  attractions  would  have  in 
sured  his  success,  if  he  had  not  dropped  out 
[205] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  86$ 

of  the  race.  As  it  was,  this  pretty  Agnes 
found  her  fiance  s  gifts  all  satisfying.  "  He 
writes  such  sweet  things,  don't  you  know  ? " 
she  whispered.  "  Everybody  at  the  Park  is 
determined  that  he  shall  get  that  beautiful 
pastoral  copyrighted.  They  think  it  would 
be  a  real  success  brought  out  in  book  form, 
fully  illustrated." 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  answered  faintly,  "  that 
might  be  done."  And,  before  I  had  need  to 
say  more,  we  had  arrived  and  the  author  came 
out  to  greet  us  all  and  to  match  with  his 
sweetheart's  his  blissful  blushes. 

The  studies  were  well  worth  visiting. 
Faulkney  Enderson  is  one  of  our  most  poet 
ical  landscapists.  He  had  breathed  the  ten- 
derest  sentiment  over  the  reedy  banks  of 
Earrell  Creek.  There  was  the  sun  sparkling 
on  the  Vosenkill,  and  the  stream  again  in  its 
deep,  serious  shadows;  the  masterpiece  was 
early  morning  rising  from  the  shores  in  a 
soft  summer  mist.  They  were  very  beautiful 
[206] 


CHANTICLEER 


in  a  contracted  sense,  but  all  the  great  out-of- 
doors  was  calling  us  away.  Mr.  Estabrook 
alone  lingered  as  if  he  could  not  bear  to  part 
from  them.  When  he  did  so  there  were  tears 
in  his  eyes. 

The  next  day  Miss  Decker  asked  me  ear 
nestly  if  I  did  not  think  Mr.  Estabrook  a 
"  queer  old  gentleman.  One  of  those  pic 
tures,  now,  of  the  creek,"  she  explained,  "  he 
said  '  was  a  beautiful  transparent  fog.'  I 
told  him  it  looked  to  me  like  a  great  mess  o* 
mildew." 


[207] 


CHAPTEK   XVI 

Miss  DECKER  had  such  a  refreshing  way 
of  being  ignorant.  In  a  latent  state  she 
possessed  a  nature  thoroughly  balanced  for 
appreciation,  but  it  had  been  developed  only 
upon  a  very  few  sides.  To  see  her  mental 
gambols,  her  sensitised  soul  catching  impres 
sions,  was  like  watching  the  ecstatic  discov 
eries  of  a  bright  child.  Anything  new  in 
the  way  of  culture  was  not  adopted  until  it 
could  be  assimilated.  There  was  no  pre 
tence.  She  was  frankly  a  student  in  the 
niceties  of  refinement.  She  knew  nature 
and  loved  it.  The  arts  were  a  sealed  book 
to  her. 

I  wondered  if  Mr.  Estabrook  would  be 
troubled  by  the  candour  of  her  art  criticism. 
[208] 


CHANTICLEER 


He  certainly  was  not;  for  some  mysterious 
reason  it  seemed  to  draw  them  more  closely 
together  and  they  soon  developed  into  firm 
friends. 

Margaret  was  engaged  to  her  sister  for  a 
season  at  the  seashore,  but  Miss  Decker 
offered  to  remain  to  help  me  through  the 
period  of  the  children's  visit,  a  plan  we  were 
putting  vigorously  into  execution.  Although 
Margaret  promised  to  return  to  us  as  soon 
as  possible,  swearing  fealty  to  us,  our  home, 
and  our  principles,  we  felt  that  the  glamour 
of  the  outside  world  might  prove  alluring. 
She  was  very  young. 

After  we  had  said  good-bye  to  her,  Miss 
Decker  and  I  tried  to  brush  depression  from 
our  spirits  by  a  scramble  through  the  most 
impenetrable  part  of  our  thicket.  We  made 
many  interesting  discoveries  and  came  out, 
by  chance,  warm  and  tired,  into  the  more 
open  space  before  Mr.  Estabrook's  cottage. 

We  saw  him,  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
[209] 


SS  CHANTICLEER  S& 

window,  looking  toward  us.  We  waited 
openly  in  ingenuous  expectation  of  an  in 
vitation  to  rest  and  refreshment.  But,  after 
a  somewhat  awkward  delay,  we  were  turning 
away  when  he  appeared  at  his  door.  He 
was  a  trifle  disturbed,  but  cordially  hospita 
ble.  We  followed  him  into  a  lone;,  tasteful 

o/ 

living-room,  where  we  were  seated  in  com 
fortable  chairs,  and  an  order  given  to  Per 
kins,  the  man  of  all  work,  to  bring  us  some 
iced  tea. 

We  had  a  great  deal  to  report  of  our 
tramp,  to  which  our  host  listened  with  kind 
sympathy,  although  he  was  rather  silent 
himself.  When  Perkins  came  in  with  the 
cold,  sparkling  glasses  he  said  something  in 
a  low  voice  to  his  master.  Mr.  Estabrook 
changed  colour.  Then,  calling  our  attention 
most  transparently  to  a  passing  object  upon 
the  road  outside,  he  moved  softly  to  the 
back  of  the  room,  where  he  pushed  some 
thing  farther  back  behind  the  draperies  be- 
[210] 


CHANTICLEER 


fore  he  nervously  drew  them  more  closely 
together. 

His  face  was  anxious  when  he  returned 
to  us,  but  he  spoke  coherently,  intelligently 
upon  the  topic  under  discussion.  I  could 
not  doubt  his  sanity,  but  I  was  sorely  per 
plexed. 

When  we  had  started  upon  our  way  home 
I  burst  out :  "  I  suppose  he  could  not  have 
been  burying  a  kitten  again  to-day.  Oh, 
it  was  Margaret  who  saw  Mr.  Estabrook 
hiding  something  in  the  bushes  —  not 
you." 

"  No,"  Miss  Decker  said,  "  I  was  the 
one,  yesterday." 

I  stopped  where  I  stood,  my  feet  tangled 
in  a  coil  of  matted  tree  roots,  to  stare  at 
her.  "  Again  yesterday,"  I  cried,  "  what 
does  it  mean  ?  " 

We  hurried  forward  to  consult  Roger. 
He  made  light  of  the  matter,  though  he  did 
add  that  it  might  be  just  as  well,  when  the 
[211] 


CHANTICLEER 


children  came,  to  leave  none  of  them  alone 
with  Mr.  Estabrook. 

"  When  the  children  came  "  was  the  re 
frain  of  our  days,  after  the  date  was  settled 
upon  until  their  arrival  was  an  actual  expe 
rience.  Our  happiness  took  an  altogether 
new  turn  in  those  weeks  of  infant  carnival. 

Gurgles  of  laughter  mingled  with  the 
bird-trills  at  daybreak,  small  radiant  faces 
were  framed  in  the  shrubbery,  tiny  feet 
waded  the  Vosenkill.  Our  path  seethed 
with  scurrying  figures  in  that  unmeaning 
restlessness  of  childhood  that  comes  under 
the  one  generic  title  of  "  play." 

We  all  watched  over  their  bliss,  the  two 
teachers  who  made  up  the  regular  escort,  Miss 
Decker,  Roger,  Mr.  Estabrook,  and  myself, 
as  eager  volunteers.  That  was  Roger's  vaca 
tion.  He  did  nothing  in  those  memorable 
weeks,  but  feed  his  senses  with  the  irrespon 
sible  ecstasy,  the  wild  tumultuous  joy,  of 
our  appreciative  visitors.  They  buzzed  per- 
[212] 


CHANTICLEER 


sistently  about  perilous  positions,  in  spite  of 
our  warning  cries  ;  but,  by  some  mystic  pro 
vision  of  nature,  the  tiny  mite  standing  on 
one  foot  upon  some  dizzy  height  was  no  more 
doomed  to  dismemberment  than  the  unwilling 
creature  clasped  by  a  detaining  hand. 

The  day  before  the  curtain  went  down 
upon  our  pastoral,  to  the  ringing  applause 
of  actors  and  audience  alike,  one  small  vis 
itor  said  to  me  :  "  That  old  man  put  some 
thing  behind  the  rocks  down  there  this 
mornin'.  I  asked  him  what  it  was." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  I  questioned. 

She  puckered  her  smooth  brow  and 
thought  for  a  long  time.  Then  she  answered 
slowly,  "  '  A  great  sorrow.'  ' 


[213] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

OUR  pleasure  when  the  young  men  filled 
the  camp  was  more  sedate  but  no  less  en 
grossing.  The  drama  of  human  interest 
was  intense.  Our  lives  expanded  so  rapidly 
that  it  was  comparable  to  nothing  so  much 
as  that  sudden  bursting  of  the  sumach  buds 
at  spring's  warm  touch.  The  boys'  ingenu 
ous  confidences  of  themselves  and  their 
families  opened  up  long  vistas  of  possible 
good.  Appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  the  man 
who  is  living  quite  up  to  his  income,  if  not 
beyond  it,  is  a  fatal  blight  to  peace  of  mind. 
To  us  it  was  merely  a  glorious  exhibition  of 
newly  acquired  strength. 

We  listened,  with  our  hearts  glowing,  to 
hopes  and  regrets  that  we  had  power  to  pro- 
[214] 


CHANTICLEER 


mote  or  to  annul.  There  was  no  appearance 
of  wealth  in  our  mode  of  living.  The  artless 
speakers  had  not  the  least  thought  of  address 
ing  their  fairy  godparents.  The  sensation  of 
becoming  suddenly  such  was  a  unique  expe 
rience.  It  thrilled  us  through  and  through. 
We  held  frequent  breathless  conversations  as 
to  expedients.  We  planned  as  cautiously  as 
if  we  were  only  moderately  capable  of  doing. 
But,  in  reality,  our  riches  were  inordinate. 
We  had  found  that  health  and  happiness 
cost  us  almost  nothing,  and  we  had  an 
ample  income.  Even  after  prudent  tithes 
for  the  future  were  set  aside,  our  hands  were 
full  of  benefits.  There  was  something  we 
could  do,  with  wisdom,  to  buy  each  boy's 
peace  of  mind,  and  we  did  it.  The  impress- 
iveness  of  the  scenes  when  we  gave  our  prom 
ise  of  this  relief,  or  that  joy,  was  unspeakably 
stirring. 

I  wanted  to  make  converts  to  that  sacred 
happiness.     I  had  a  burning  desire  to  com- 
[215] 


CHANTICLEER 


pile  sociologic  works,  but  the  difficulty  is 
that  such  a  treatise,  to  be  convincing,  should 
be  in  at  least  two  volumes,  whereas  my 
theory  can  be  expounded  in  two  words: 
simplicity  and  sympathy.  Roger  calls  it 
compressed  tablets  of  sociology. 

By  the  time  the  boys  had  gone  back  to 
their  mechanical  duties  —  poor  dears !  - 
September  was  well  reached.  Miss  Decker 
had  stayed  with  us  all  that  time,  with  every 
pore  open  to  aBsthetic  influence.  Her  re 
pressed  spiritual  nature  expanded  in  those 
few  weeks  with  a  determined  force  that  was 
all  healthy  growth  and  no  strain. 

Shortly  before  her  leave-taking  she  said 
to  me :  "  If  every  one  had  his  chance  and 
failed,  that  would  be  all  right.  But  it's  the 
being  kept  back  that  hurts.  I  feel  as  if  I 
was  all  dwarfed  and  shrunk  up  before  I 
came  here.  I've  thought  so  much,  lately, 
about  my  cousin  Lina,  what  her  husband  — 
he  was  an  ignorant  fellow  —  said,  when  he 
[216] 


CHANTICLEER 


saw  her  lying  in  her  coffin  :  '  I'm  afraid 
she'll  bu'st  singin'  Halleluiahs  up  there. 
She  couldn't  never  ketch  the  tune  here  be 
low.'  There  !  I  knew  you  wouldn't  laugh." 

"  Laugh  ?  "  I  said.  "  See  !  I  am  crying. 
Poor  Lina  !  " 

We  went,  for  cheering,  across  the  lush 
September  pastures,  skirting  the  long,  lazy 
highway  lined  with  goldenrod  and  wild 
asters  mingling  their  rich  purples  with  the 
more  delicate  Michaelmas  daisies.  Banks 
rose  above  us  white  with  the  frail  lacework 
of  wild  carrot  bloom,  branches  of  brilliant 
sumach  laid  their  gorgeous  colour  in  sophis 
ticated  premeditation  against  the  sombre 
grey  of  rough  stone  walls  and  decaying 
rails,  struggling  for  space  with  riotous  vines 
purple  and  fragrant  with  their  clustering 
harvest  of  tiny  frost  grapes.  The  dulness 
of  the  day  invited  our  gaze  upward  to  the 
tall  elms  where  woodbine  hung  in  scarlet 
festoons. 

[217] 


Through  rough,  stubbly  meadows,  as 
through  an  iridescent  haze  of  mauve  and 
gold,  the  magic  of  aster  and  goldenrod,  we 
looked  off  to  slopes  crowned  with  the  har 
vest  of  cultivation:  luxuriant  rows  of 
stacked  corn  with  golden  pumpkins  glinting 
here  and  there  amongst  the  sombre  patches. 

Our  steps  lay  toward  a  neighbouring  vine 
yard  where  choicest  specimens  were  ours  for 
the  proverbial  song.  We  found  no  excuse 
to  go  abroad  for  the  grape  cure.  With  appe 
tite,  time,  and  fruit  at  our  disposal,  we  spent 
September  feasting. 

Miss  Decker  promised  to  come  to  us  again 
later  in  the  autumn  or  in  the  early  winter. 
Margaret  had  begun  to  write  feelingly  of 
Chanticleer's  exultation  when  ripe  red  Octo 
ber  should  come,  but  her  friends  and  her 
family  were  engrossing,  and  there  was 
"  glorious,  ice-spangled  winter  "  still  before 
us. 

Roger  shook  his  head.  He  said  such  florid 
[218] 


CHANTICLEER 


expression  would  not  materialise  a  Marga 
ret.  I  knew  better,  and  I  sent  a  long  letter 
of  encouragement  and  entreaty  to  Lenox, 
whither  she  had  gone  with  a  party  of  friends. 

About  this  time  I  heard  from  Maurice 
that  his  colleague,  young  Dr.  Duryea,  had 
proposed  his  running  over  to  Lenox  with  him 
to  spend  Sunday. 

Ah,  the  whirligig  of  time  !  I  wrote  back 
to  my  haughty  brother-in-law  :  "  Lenox  in 
deed  !  Not  one  step  shall  you  go." 

After  Miss  Decker  was  quite  ready  to 
take  her  leave  of  us,  in  that  formal  half- 
hour  that  precedes  a  departure,  Mr.  Esta- 
brook  came  in  as  if  in  acknowledgment  of 
some  sudden  determination  to  speak  with 
her.  I  did  not  hear  what  was  said  by  way 
of  invitation,  but,  after  some  vague  apology 
to  us,  they  went  off  together  down  through 
the  mid-day  shadows  of  the  wood  road  that 
leads  to  the  Park. 

They  were  gone  so  long  that  I  feared  our 
[219] 


CHANTICLEER 


party  —  Miss  Decker  with  Roger  and  my 
self  as  escort  —  would  arrive  too  late  at  the 
forest's  edge  to  keep  our  tryst  with  young 
Mr.  Jenkins  and  his  transporting  vehicle. 

I  think  Mr.  Estabrook  brought  her  back 
to  Chanticleer,  but  he  did  not  come  in  to  us 
again.  Miss  Decker  was  flushed  and  ex 
cited.  Through  the  long  walk  to  the  ren 
dezvous  she  scarcely  spoke.  Roger  and  I 
kept  up  a  continuous  stream  of  desultory, 
awkward  talk.  Finally  we  said  together, 
with  some  relief  in  our  voices,  "  Oh,  there  is 
Silas  Jenkins  now !  " 

Her  larger  luggage  had  been  taken  over 
to  the  farmhouse  in  a  wheelbarrow  that 
morning  by  the  letter-carrier.  While  Roger 
was  stowing  away  her  smaller  traps  in  the 
wagon,  Miss  Decker  put  out  her  arms  to 
draw  me  to  her  for  one  tremulous  moment. 
Her  eyes  were  strangely  bright.  "  I've 
'most  a  mind  to  tell  you,"  she  whispered; 
"but,  oh,  I  can't;  not  now.  Wait!  " 
[  220  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  returned  the  pressure  of  her  clinging 
arms  with  a  small  measure  of  the  affection 
I  felt.  Roger  came  toward  her  with  his 
hand  outstretched. 

The  Jenkins  boy  called,  "  Hurry  up,  can't 
you,  Miss  Decker  ?  " 

She  said,  "  Yes."  She  was  gone,  rattling 
off  down  the  dusty  turnpike  with  her  secret 
and  her  feverish  eyes. 


[221] 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

ROGER  had  bought  in  the  Jenkins's  apple 
orchard  a  tree  just  as  it  stood  —  its  fruit, 
that  is  —  with  the  understanding  that  we 
should  have  the  joy  of  gathering  it  our 
selves.  They  were  gay,  red  things  hanging 
so  thickly  among  the  green  foliage  as  to 
make  delay  desperate.  Many  of  our  walks, 
during  the  last  days  before  the  harvesting, 
lay  close  to  this  fragrant  possession.  We 
would  stop  to  gaze  long  and  lovingly  into 
the  alluring  branches  of  our  tree,  before 
we  sat  down  in  the  grass  and  feasted  our 
eyes  upon  the  beautiful  picture  of  a  richly 
loaded  orchard ;  waiting  fruit,  red  and 
green  and  golden,  stiffly  pendent  among  the 
broad  sweep  of  limb.  An  apple  tree,  from 
the  first  pink  hint  of  blossom,  until  the  last 
[222] 


CHANTICLEER 


belated  red  and  russet  leaves  have  suc 
cumbed  to  winter,  is  a  friendly  interest.  In 
its  naked  outline,  the  rugged  majesty 
appeals,  too,  to  its  partisans. 

The  chicken-house  had  proved  so  subtle 
a  flatterer  of  Roger's  ability  that  his  pre 
sumption  along  architectural  lines,  thus 
quickened,  matured  robustly  with  cool 
weather.  lie  conceived  the  bold  plan  of 
erecting  an  extension  to  our  mansion  for 
winter  use  —  a  coal  bin  on  one  side,  on  the 
other  a  storeroom;  for  now  that  we  had 
bought  our  apples  we  must  build  a  home  for 
them. 

At  first  Roger  was  to  erect  this  structure 
entirely  unassisted.  "  Why  not  ?  "  I  said 
rashly,  "  you  like  to  fuss." 

He  raised  a  stern  face  from  the  elaborate 
plans  he  was  drawing  to  repeat  coldly: 
"Fuss?  Who  built  that  chicken-house?" 

"  I  did.     Some  of  it,"  I  remarked  firmly. 
"  And  the  model  was  entirely  mine." 
[223] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Yes,"  said  Roger,  tearing  up  the  plan 
he  had  been  making.  "  The  model  was 
poor,  Mary.  You  remember  it  would  not 
hold  chickens  at  first." 

"  This  house  won't  hold  apples,  either," 
I  ventured,  "if  it  is  so  loosely  built.  It 
was  not  my  fault.  The  plan  was  nice,  and 
I  drove  nails  enough." 

"  Was  it  my  fault,  Mary  ?  "  Roger  asked 
coldly. 

Roger  is  a  mild  man,  but  I  dared  not  say 
yes.  "  It  was  the  chickens'  fault,"  I  an 
swered.  "  They  were  always  pushing  against 
it." 

Roger  had  some  boards  brought.  He 
worked  one  day  upon  the  storeroom,  and 
then  he  announced  that  he  should  get  a  car 
penter  to  assist  him.  After  one  day  more 
he  spoke  of  assisting  the  carpenter;  and 
upon  the  third  day  I  heard  him  tell  some  one 
that  he  was  having  a  small  addition  built. 
He  lingered  about  and  looked  lovingly  at 
[224] 


CHANTICLEER 


the  progress,  but  I  think  he  found  that 
"  fussing  "  was  the  wound  of  a  f  aithf  ul 
friend. 

When  the  storeroom  was  built  and  a  sup 
ply  of  coal  heaped  on  one  side  of  the  parti 
tion,  the  other  side  gaped  to  be  filled.  So 
we  harvested  our  produce.  We  dug  po 
tatoes. 

We  had  almost  three  bushels  of  these, 
which  was  a  good  many,  considering  how 
long  we  had  been  eating  them.  They  were 
sound  and  orthodox  in  appearance.  It  pro 
duces  a  strange  sensation  to  uncover  a 
mound  of  ordinary  dirt  and  to  find  be 
neath  it  a  nest  of  potatoes  as  real  as  any 
thing  one  may  buy  at  the  largest  market, 
and  to  realise  that  they  are  yours  —  the 
product  of  your  own  husbandry.  I  never 
felt  so  practical  and  of  so  much  use  upon 
the  earth  as  I  did  the  day  we  gathered  our  po 
tatoes.  We  found  harvesting  sufficiently  fas 
cinating  to  determine  to  make  it  linger  as 
[  225  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


long  as  possible,  allowing  ourselves  just  such 
hours  of  it  each  day.  The  potatoes  were 
the  first  day's  work.  Roger  drew  a  line 
through  the  middle  of  the  patch  and  we  be 
gan,  with  apparent  fairness.  Later  on  it 
occurred  to  me  that,  although  I  had  as  much 
ground-room  in  my  allotment  as  my  hus 
band,  I  had  not  quite  so  many  hills  as  he, 
for  we  had  used  more  from  the  right  side 
where  I  worked. 

Roger  is  too  fine  a  man  to  be  allowed  to 
grow  selfish.  So  I  said  to  him :  "  How 
many  hills  have  you  dug  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  really  kept  count,"  he  an 
swered  evasively. 

"  But  you  knew,  did  you  not,  that  you 
had  more  than  I  ? " 

"  Not  at  first,  Mary ;  upon  my  honour. 
Afterward,  when  I  recollected,  I  thought  it 
might  be  best  so  for  fear  of  your  getting 
tired." 

I  laid  down  my  hoe  and  addressed  Roger 
[226] 


CHANTICLEER 


with  wifely  thoroughness  upon  the  fallacy 
of  my  fatigue  in  pleasurable  matters.  I 
enlightened  him  as  to  that  dead  but  not  yet 
buried  day  when  he  had  made  the  butter, 
led  on  by  his  stale  excuse.  "  To-morrow," 
I  said,  "  when  we  gather  the  chickens'  corn 
we  will  start  free  and  equal." 

"  We  will.  We  will,  Molly,"  that  blessed 
angel  cried  repentantly.  "  And  shall  you 
care  at  all,  do  you  suppose,  to  pick  the 
beans  ?  " 

I  looked  at  him.  "  Why,  of  course,"  he 
said.  "  I  will  let  you  milk  the  cow  to-night, 
too,  dear." 

This  was  more  than  I  had  expected.  I 
do  not  share  Roger's  ardour  for  that  one 
branch  of  domesticity.  I  thought  very 
hard  while  I  was  resuming  the  hoe.  Then  I 
said :  "  ~No.  I  do  not  consider  milking  fit 
work  for  a  woman."  I  hoped  that  was  so, 
for  I  did  not  want  to  tell  a  falsehood,  but 
neither  did  I  want  to  milk  the  cow.  Roger 
[227] 


CHANTICLEER 


was  glad  to  be  convinced.  The  matter  was 
not  pressed. 

After  we  had  finished  our  farm  labours, 
we  dressed  ourselves  freshly  and  went  down 
to  the  Park  to  pay  a  round  of  neglected 
visits. 

The  first  cottage  we  came  to  —  the  Mor 
rises'  -  -  was  deserted.  There  was  no  sign 
of  more  active  life  anywhere  than  that  of 
the  poor  stuffed  squirrel  over  the  front  door. 

What  need  was  there  of  Roger's  sharp 
ringing  ?  but  he  thought,  as  one  always  does, 
that  he  "  might  as  well  try  it,"  with  that  un 
conscious  belief  that  if  one  gives  an  unusual 
peal  there  must  be  some  response  even  in  a 
deserted  house. 

There  was  no  response.  We  walked  on  to 
the  Tryons'  cottage.  There  the  outlook  was 
even  less  hospitable.  The  windows  were 
boarded  up,  and  the  doorbell  had  been  re 
moved.  We  hurried  to  the  next  one  on  our 
line  of  march.  That,  too,  was  closed.  Then 
[228] 


«33  CHANTICLEER  %& 

we  turned  our  blank  faces  toward  Elliott- 
iana. 

The  family  was  strewn  along  the  wide 
piazza  there,  behind  large  jars  of  golden- 
rod  and  asters  that  gave  out  that  faint  dis 
agreeable  odour  of  the  first  stage  of  staleness. 
Everybody's  hands  were  lying  in  every 
body's  laps  with  fixed  idleness.  A  row  of 
bored  faces  arose  to  greet  us.  The  Judge 
was  distinctly  peevish.  For  some  occult 
reason  his  ennui  and  his  family's  ennui  was 
the  fault  of  the  smiling,  happy  pair  who 
now  stood  before  him.  We  had  set  a  certain 
example.  What  had  worked  so  charmingly 
with  us  had  failed  with  them.  The  question 
to  be  faced  was,  Why  had  we  done  it  ? 

"  Will  you  take  these  ?  "  the  Judge  began 
in  a  querulous  tone,  indicating  some  empty 
piazza  chairs.  "  It  is  getting  'most  too  cool 
for  sitting  out-of-doors,  but  there  is  no 
pleasant  place  inside." 

We  settled  ourselves  silently.  Then 
[229] 


*8  CHANTICLEER  8SS 

Roger  said :  "  There  seems  to  have  been 
quite  an  exodus  from  the  Park,"  a  remark 
that  infuriated  our  host. 

He  glared  at  my  husband  before  he 
roared :  "  I  should  think  there  had  been 
an  exodus.  It's  the  pleasantest  thing  that 
ever  was  for  us  to  sit  here  alone  and  twiddle 
our  thumbs." 

Mrs.  Elliott  whined,  "  The  families  in 
the  cottages  the  Judge  built  to  rent  all  went 
by  the  first  of  September." 

"  But  they  only  came  for  the  summer, 
mother/'  Miss  Elliott  struck  in. 

The  Judge  turned  upon  his  daughter  in 
a  sort  of  fury.  "  Does  that  alter  the  fact 
that  they  have  gone  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  faintly,  sinking  farther 
back  in  her  chair. 

"  I  built  those  cottages  at  considerable  ex 
pense  —  I  might  say,  great  expense,  to  in 
sure  neighbours.  But  what  good  did  it  do  ?  " 

I  stated,  not  very  opportunely,  that  we 
[230] 


CHANTICLEER 


had  been  to  the  Morris  and  Try  on  and 
Luther  cottages  to  find  those,  too,  de 
serted. 

The  Judge  groaned.  "  Of  course  you 
found  them  deserted.  Those  people  wouldn't 
stay  in  this  forsaken  hole.  One  day  last 
week  Miss  Tryon's  fiance  —  here  he 
looked  at  one  of  his  daughters  for  en 
couragement  which  he  must  have  found,  for 
he  made  no  change  in  pronunciation  — 
"  drove  up  here  ;  I  say  up  here  ;  I  mean, 
he  left  his  horses  down  on  the  turnpike,  and 
walked  up  through  the  pastures.  No  one 
can  drive  decent  springs  over  that  beastly 
road.  The  very  worst  one  in  the  country 
anywhere,  I  suppose." 

Here  he  waved  his  hand  in  outraged  de 
nunciation  of  the  primitive  highway  that 
we  had  found  a  priceless  barrier  against  the 
incursions  of  civilisation.  "  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Tryon  both  were  so  glad  to  see  some  one 
from  the  outside  that  they  just  cried.  So  he 
[231] 


CHANTICLEER 


got  them  to  drive  right  back  to  town  that 
same  day  with  him.  They  left  the  servants 
to  pack  up  and  come  when  they  could.  Of 
course  the  Morrises  wouldn't  stay  without 
the  Tryons.  And  the  Luthers  were  called 
to  Boston  suddenly  by  the  sickness  of  some 
body;  or  so  they  say,  but  I  imagine  that 
was  all  made  up.  So  here  we  are,  left  high 
and  dry,  with  just  the  Gillettes  —  Miss  Gil 
lette's  an  ornithologist  and  wants  to  study 
the  winter  birds  —  and  that  old  fellow  on  the 
south  side,  old  Estabrook.  Pleasant  for  us, 
isn't  it  ?  Probably  there  is  not  such  another 
lonely  place  in  the  whole  United  States." 

Roger  and  I  made  that  little  gurgling 
sound  that  may  mean  anything,  before  the 
Judge  continued  with  the  suspicion  of  his 
profession.  "  So  those  people  up  to  the 
camp  have  gone  too  ?  I  believe  there  was 
some  sort  of  collusion  in  all  this." 

Roger  tried  to  explain  our  neighbours' 
movements,  but  to  no  purpose.  The  Judge 
[232] 


383  CHANTICLEER  85* 

clearly  preferred  to  think  there  was,  as  he 
said,  "  something  back  of  it." 

Presently  he  demanded  savagely :  "  What 
do  you  do  with  yourselves  all  day  ?  " 

"  Not  half  what  we  would  if  there  was 
more  time,"  my  husband  answered. 

"  Time  ?  "  he  shouted,  "  there  isn't  a 
thing  here  but  time.  I  tell  the  girls  there 
are  ten  days  in  every  week.  That  woman 
there,"  nodding  at  the  partner  of  his  joys, 
"  asks  me  all  day  long  what  time  it  is." 

I  wondered  fleetingly  if  Mrs.  Elliott  had 
not  mastered  the  intricacies  of  a  clock  be 
fore  I  began  to  fully  realise  what  a  com 
plete  biography  of  her  the  confidence  was. 
We  attempted  to  give  them  a  brief  inven 
tory  of  our  simple  pleasures,  but  their  hard 
faces  seemed  to  extract  the  fragrance  from 
everything.  They  could  not  understand.  It 
was,  as  Lowell  said,  like  presenting  them 
with  the  bones  of  a  fowl  we  had  picked.  I 
should  have  suppressed  our  prospective 
[233] 


CHANTICLEER 


apple  harvesting,  but  Roger  entered  into  a 
spirited  recital  of  our  anticipation  in  that 
quarter.  He  seemed  to  think  one  more  trial 
"Would  be  generous.  I  had  given  them  up 
after  they  treated  the  history  of  our  potatoes 
with  silent  disrespect. 

"  There  is  one  thing/'  I  said  cheerfully, 
as  we  were  taking  our  leave  ;  "  you  all  keep 
well  in  this  bracing  air,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  well  enough,"  the  Judge 
pouted.  "  If  we  didn't  we  would  get  right 
back  to  town." 

His  tone  implied  that  under  the  circum 
stances,  health,  too,  was  something  of  a 
grievance.  We  made  no  further  effort  to 
console  them,  and  bowed  ourselves  away. 

As  soon  as  we  were  at  a  safe  distance  I 
said,  "  But  we  are  not  keeping  that  man 
here." 

Roger  laughed  with  a  boy's  relish.  "  The 
poor,  obstinate  old  fellow  said  he  should  live 
here,  probably,  most  of  the  year,  as  we  did. 
[234] 


CHANTICLEER 


His  health  demanded  the  quiet.  Then  you 
remember  his  clinching  the  determination 
by  telling  every  one  that  his  daughters  de 
clared  they  must  stay  till  after  the  holi 
days,  anyway,  and  have  a  house-party  for 
Christmas.  His  dignity  is  committed.  He 
has  made  a  public  avowal  of  his  plans." 

"  They  hold  us  even  more  responsible  than 
the  Lymans  and  the  Endersons  do/'  I 
sighed. 

The  encounter  had  been  a  disturber  of 
peace.  We  laughed  a  good  deal,  but  it  was 
more  or  less  hysterical.  Our  souls  seemed 
to  have  undergone  a  complete  jolting. 

Mr.  Estabrook  came  out  of  his  cottage  as 
we  drew  near.  His  head  was  down  and  he 
Walked  by  us  without  immediate  recogni 
tion.  "  You  are  tired,"  I  said,  looking  up 
into  his  weary  face  when  we  had  gained  his 
attention. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  "  only  very 
sad." 

[235] 


383  CHANTICLEER  S£$ 

He  joined  us  and  we  walked  on  silently 
until  he  broke  out :  "  But  I  ought  not  to 
be  sad  now,  either.  You  know  of  my  one 
bit  of  good  fortune,  I  suppose  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  and  Roger  said,  "  !N"o." 

"  No  ?  "  Mr.  Estabrook  repeated.     "  Well 

then,    some    other    time,    my    dears."      He 

clasped  my  hand  warmly,  and  then  Roger's, 

slipping  away  as  softly  as  he  had  come. 


[236] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ROGEK  said  finally  that  I  was  emulating 
Mrs.  Elliott's  inquiries  into  the  time  of 
day,  I  asked  so  very  often  if  our  apples  were 
not  ready  for  harvesting. 

At  last  the  word  was  given.  Mr.  Jenkins 
told  us  to  come,  and  we  were  going  on  the 
day  after  to-morrow  with  our  baskets  and 
step-ladders  to  that  sacred  spot  of  our  an 
ticipations.  It  had  been  agreed  that  we 
should  complete  our  gathering  before  the 
regular  work  of  the  orchard  began. 

At  this  crucial  moment  Margaret  appeared. 
Her  fine  phraseology  had  not  covered  deser 
tion,  as  I  at  once  reminded  Roger.  Step- 
ladders  were  set  up  under  the  lower  branches 
for  her  and  me,  and  a  longer  ladder  provided 
[237] 


CHANTICLEER 


for  Roger.  We  had  baskets  to  fill  which  we 
emptied  from  time  to  time  into  the  barrels 
that  stood  conveniently  near.  It  was  a  large 
tree  and  heavily  loaded,  and  yet,  for  the  first 
exciting  moment  I  wished  silently  that  Mar 
garet  had  postponed  her  visit  for  a  day  or 
two.  But  when,  as  I  hurried  back  from  the 
first  emptying  of  my  basket,  I  stopped  to  look 
for  an  instant  at  the  childlike  play  of  her  en 
joyment  I  no  longer  regretted.  She  was  very 
lovely  in  a  pretty  tourist's  suit  of  becoming 
dark  blue.  Her  hair  flung  out  soft  brown  ten 
drils  over  her  flaming  cheeks  and  her  white 
neck.  "  Isn't  it  exhilarating  ?  "  she  called 
to  me  as  I  passed.  "  How  fragrant  they  are  ; 
and  so  —  gay.  One  must  stop  every  few 
moments,  to  gloat  over  their  beauty,  first  in 
the  basket  and  then  on  the  tree." 

"  I  think  they  are  prettiest  among  the 
green  leaves,"  I  called  back.  "  Sometimes 
I  have  hardly  the  heart  to  disturb  a  special 
beauty." 

[238] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  How  many  have  you  eaten  ? "  Roger 
shouted  from  some  embowered  height. 

"Not  one,"  we  both  protested.  "We 
had  not  thought  of  such  sacrilege." 

"  That  proves  the  superiority  of  the  sex," 
came  back.  "  I  have  devoured  a  clean 
bushel." 

The  branches  above  where  I  worked, 
somewhat  later,  forked  together  in  the  most 
accessible  way.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
there  would  be  real  advantage  in  slipping 
up  the  tree  trunk  a  little  distance  to  look 
down  upon  the  glory  of  the  full  ripe  orchard. 
So  I  slipped,  very  softly.  The  outlook  was 
charming.  I  crept  furtively  on,  farther 
than  I  had  intended.  Roger  had  gone  down 
to  the  barrel  to  empty  his  basket. 

When  I  had  almost  gained  the  highest 
point  a  new  voice  reached  my  ears,  followed 
by  exclamations  of  surprise.  Then  my 
brother-in-law,  in  his  most  conventional 
tone,  asked,  "  Where  is  Mary  ?  " 
[239] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Where  is  she  ?  "  Margaret  and  Roger 
repeated  together.  "  She  was  here  just  a 
moment  ago,"  Margaret  said,  and  Roger  re 
iterated  her  statement  before  he  set  up  an 
anxious  hallooing. 

Maurice  came  forward  to  help  Margaret's 
anxiety  to  the  ground,  looking  upward  as  he 
did  so.  "  There  is  some  one  in  that  tree,"  he 
answered.  My  doom  had  come. 

"  Here  I  am,"  I  called  in  a  shrill  little 
voice. 

The  young  people  took  that  moment  to 
inspect  the  hoards  in  the  barrel.  Roger 
ran  up  the  long  ladder  to  my  aid.  "  I  would 
not  do  that  again,  dear,"  he  whispered  when 
my  feet  touched  the  ground.  Then  he 
straightened  my  hat  and  tidied  me  up  a  bit. 
When  I  looked  fit  I  stepped  forward  to 
greet  Maurice.  He  was  very  forgiving  with 
his  hoydenish  sister-in-law. 

"  You  can't  pick  apples  in  those  clothes," 
Roger  said.  I  do  not  suppose  Maurice  had 
[240] 


CHANTICLEER 


a  burning  desire  to  pick  apples  in  any 
clothes.  He  sent,  I  thought,  a  rather  con 
gratulatory  glance  over  his  fine  raiment  be 
fore  he  said  :  "  Well,  you  go  on  with  your 
work.  I  will  just  stand  about  and  talk  with 
Miss  Robertson." 

"  But  Miss  Robertson  wants  to  do  it,  her 
self,"  I  cried. 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  "  Maurice  interjected. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  smiled.  "  It  is 
the  loveliest  thing  there  ever  was." 

"  Then  I  will  run  back  to  the  house  and 
slip  into  some  other  clothes,"  he  said 
eagerly.  "  Jenkins  drove  me  up  from  the 
station.  He  told  me  you  were  here,  so  I 
came  over  across  lots,  and  sent  the  boy  on 
with  my  luggage." 

It  was  not  until  he  was  gone  that  I  be 
gan  to  guess  how  he  had  learned  of  Marga 
ret's  coming,  and  to  laugh  at  his  not  giving 
me  an  opportunity  to  tell  him  to  stay  away. 

We  worked  rather  silently  for  a  time.  I 
[241] 


CHANTICLEER 


felt  a  good  deal  like  a  child  in  disgrace  —  I 
cannot  tell,  yet,  what  made  me  climb  that 
tree. 

Presently  Margaret  began  singing  some 
popular  melody,  and  Roger  joined  in.  They 
have  clear,  pleasant  voices,  though  one  of 
them  cannot  carry  a  tune  very  well.  But  it 
was  cheerful,  and  the  conservatory  author 
ities  tell  us  that  even  the  feathered  songsters 
are  not  correct;  which  may  mean,  however, 
that  they  do  not  make  the  accepted  faces. 

At  last  Maurice  came  swinging  toward 
us,  very  handsome  in  knickerbockers  and  a 
modish  hunting-  jacket  of  dark  green  cor 
duroy.  A  ravishingly  becoming  Tarn  o' 
Shanter  was  pushed  a  little  back  from  his 
radiant  face,  and  he  was  singing,  in  his 
true,  sweet,  tenor  voice. 

Margaret  was  evidently  where  she  could 
not  see  him,  for  she  asked  eagerly,  "  Who 
is  that?" 

"  Maurice,"  I  called  back  jubilantly. 
[242] 


383  CHANTICLEER  S& 

"  Oh  !  "  she  mocked.  "  Our  tongues  are 
tied  now,  Roger.  Listen  to  De  Reszke." 

My  poor  brother.  Must  even  his  gifts 
militate  against  him? 

I  think  Maurice  was  really  more  inclined 
to  sing  than  he  was  to  gather  apples.  He 
gave  us,  first  and  last,  a  rather  full  concert 
programme.  I  know  it  was  merely  a  youth 
ful  overflow  of  good  spirits,  and  not  at  all  a 
wish  to  exploit  his  accomplishment,  though 
I  was  sorry  to  have  his  choice  fall  upon  so 
many  of  the  selections  Margaret  had  just  ren 
dered  faultily. 

When  we  had  stretched  our  apple  har 
vesting  to  its  farthest  limit,  Roger  concluded 
to  go  through  the  pastures  to  Mr.  Jenkins's 
to  negotiate  for  another  tree.  His  appetite 
had  been  so  whetted  by  his  aerial  feast  for 
this  fruit  that  the  imperfect  digestion  of 
civilisation  had,  for  years,  tabooed  in  an 
uncooked  form,  that  he  decided  to  engage 
a  barrel  of  every  old-time  favourite. 
[243] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  We  must  have  some  great  golden  Pound 
Sweets,"  I  said,  "  and  those  subtly  flavoured, 
deliciously  fragrant  Northern  Spies." 

"  But  those  are  for  fall.  We  must  have 
Seek-no-furthers  and  Spitzenbergs  for  win 
ter  use,"  Roger  answered  slowly,  for  he  was 
busily  calculating  the  probability  of  our 
storeroom  holding  five  barrels  of  apples  with 
those  other  supplies  we  had  concluded  to  lay 
in  for  fear  of  midwinter  blockades. 

The  wife  of  one  of  Mr.  Jenkins's  farm 
hands  does  our  laundry  work.  Margaret 
had  some  excuse  to  go  to  her  when  Roger 
set  off  through  the  meadows.  I  knew  the 
errand  was  genuine,  but  Maurice  was  scep 
tical. 

As  we  were  walking  along  alone  toward 
our  home  he  broke  out :  "  This  must  be 
about  equal  to  a  second  rejection.  It  was 
clearly  just  to  shake  me  off." 

"  O  egotistical  youth,"  I  cried,  "  and 
enigmatic.  I  understand,  though.  You 
[244] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  8% 

need    not    explain.      Yes.      The    plea    was 
honest." 

"  It  could  have  waited,"  he  answered 
coldly.  "  I  suppose  you  are  surprised  to 
see  me  to-day,  Mary.  But  you  told  me  to 
be  persistent.  Keeping  away  from  her  isn't 
persistency." 

"  I  only  meant  taking  things  rather  for 
granted  when  you  were  with  her,  not  being 
omnipresent.  You  must  not  stay  about  all 
this  long  autumn  evening.  You  and  Roger 
should  go  away  somewhere." 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  go  away,  Mary." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said  in  a  tone  that  evi 
dently  startled  him,  for  he  added  quickly, 
"  I  do  most  things  that  you  tell  me.  How 
many  times  did  that  man  offer  himself? 
Four?" 

"Six,"   I   said. 

There  is  this  curious  kink  in  men's  na 
ture;    no  woman  can  ever  tell  when  a  tran 
quil  leading  may  end  in  sudden  bolting.     "  I 
[245] 


CHANTICLEER 


should  not  offer  myself  six  times  to  any 
woman,"  Maurice  announced.  "  I  do  not 
think  I  should  do  so  half  that  many." 

We  looked  at  each  other  defiantly.  Pres 
ently  he  asked  more  humbly,  "  What  is  the 
outlook,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Black,"  I  answered.  "  Her  mother  and 
sister  are  coming  here  to  live.  They  are  to 

O  v 

rent  the  Tryon  cottage.  Margaret  will  be 
supremely  happy  with  them  there  —  after 
she  has  fumigated  the  Park  for  rusticity. 
She  would  have  to  be  very  deeply  in  love 
to  listen  to  any  suggestion  of  marriage 
now." 

"  Well,"  Maurice  said,  turning  a  whim 
sical  face  to  mine.  "  What  am  I  to  do 
about  it  ?  I  am  certainly  here,  all  prepared 
to  be  fallen  deeply  in  love  with." 

I  knew  the  situation  must  be  wholesome 

for  one  who  had  been  so  courted  as  Maurice. 

But  it  was  growing  a  little  wearing  to  his 

relatives.      Something    seemed    expected    of 

[246] 


CHANTICLEER 


me,  so  I  suggested  :  "  You  are  too  good- 
looking,  for  one  thing.  If  you  were 
maimed,  some  way,  she  would  be  sorry  for 
you." 

He  laughed  grimly.  "  I  might  mar  my 
charms,  perhaps,  but  it  would  be  rather 
painful  to  slash  oneself  up  and  find  that  even. 
then  one  was  not  appreciated.  But,  seri 
ously,  what  difference  can  the  mother  and 
sister  make  ?  Doesn't  every  girl  have  a 
mother  and  sister  ?  " 

"  Not  such  congenial  ones  as  these.  The 
family  is  altogether  complete  as  it  is. 
Where  there  are  a  number  of  women  of  like 
tastes  together  there  is  a  growing  convic 
tion  that  the  introduction  of  the  male  ele 
ment  spoils  the  cosiness  and  the  peace." 

"  I  can't  see,"  my  companion  muttered, 
"  what  harm  a  poor  fellow  would  do  in  a 
cosey  home.  I  should  think  your  married 
felicity  would  be  an  object  lesson  to  Mar  — 
Miss  Robertson." 

[247] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Oh,  but  we  are  different.  You  see, 
Roger  is  such  a  dear." 

"  Now,  Mary,"  he  broke  in,  "  you  have 
no  right  to  make  Margaret  think  that  Roger 
is  the  only  man  in  the  world  who  behaves 
himself." 

"  I  do  not,  Maurice,"  I  protested.  "  I 
believe  you  have  ever  so  many  of  the  family 
virtues.  And  you  are  growing  more  like 
him  all  the  time.  Of  course  you  are  just  a 
tiny  bit  more  conceited,  and  haughty,  and 
overbearing  than  Roger.  But  then  he  has 
been  married  for  seven  years." 

"  Umph,"  said  Maurice. 

"  Unfortunately,"  I  went  on,  "  two  of 
Margaret's  friends  have  married  rather  re 
cently,  and  she  declares  that  they  have  to 
entertain  their  husbands  every  evening. 
Laura  has  been  a  wife  for  the  past  year, 
and,  Margaret  says,  she  has  had  to  play 
backgammon  with  her  matrimonial  venture 
every  night  except  Sundays.  And  Nathalie 
[248] 


CHANTICLEER 


spends  hers  reading  aloud  to  Horace.  This 
is  a  quotation,  from  the  latter's  own  confes 
sion  :  i  He  likes  it,  and  it  certainly  is  in 
nocent.'  ' 

"  Well,"  Maurice  interjected,  "  isn't  it  ?  " 
"  Yes.  But  Margaret  says  that  if  that 
is  wedded  bliss,  she  prefers  to  spend  her 
evenings  amusing  herself.  If  she  must 
keep  six  feet  of  masculinity  innocent  it  will 
be  in  the  slums,  among  the  poor  fellows  that 
have  not  had  so  many  opportunities  as  she 
has." 

"  But  listen,  Mary,"  Maurice  said ;  "  I 
haven't  asked  her  to  keep  me  innocent.  I 
am  not  even  sure  I  want  to  be  innocent." 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  answered ;     "  but  to 
make  her  understand !     I  hardly  know  what 
to  advise.     You  might  mention,  if  there  is 
an  opportunity,   that  you  do   not  care   for 
backgammon.      You  hate  it,   don't  you  ?  " 
"  Actively.     And  what  else,   Mary  ?  " 
"  Well  then  —  I  think,  if  I  were  you,  I 
[  249  ] 


should  sing  a  little  to-night,  and  not  carry 
the  tune  very  well." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Confuse  the  air  you  are  humming  with 
something  else.  Margaret  does." 

"  Does  she  ?  God  bless  her !  I  am  glad 
she  is  that  human.  She  draws  so  well  I 
was  afraid  she  did  everything  superlatively." 

"Not  quite,"  I  said.  "How  short  the 
walk  over  here  has  seemed !  Could  you  de 
tach  your  thoughts  from  the  tender  passion 
for  a  moment  to  fasten  them  to  our  store 
room?  I  want  you  to  tell  me  whether  you 
think  it  will  hold  five  barrels  of  apples,  be 
sides  the  potatoes  and  the  bacon  ?  " 


[  250  ] 


CHAPTEK    XX 

WHEN  the  other  two  came  back  to  Chan 
ticleer  Roger  had  concluded  not  to  have 
quite  so  many  apples,  and  Margaret  was 
full  of  a  plan  she  had  formed  of  sending 
our  laundress's  daughter  away  to  school, 
such  a  prodigy  did  we  believe  her  to  be. 
My  friend  was  interesting  in  her  flushed  en 
thusiasm,  and  I  eager  for  particulars  of 
her  interview  with  the  parents  to  whom  she 
had  gone  to  unfold  her  project.  We  had 
merely  stopped  the  flow  of  our  question-and- 
answer  recital  to  breathe,  when  Maurice 
struck  into  the  conversation  with :  — 

"  I  am  glad  we  will  not  play  backgam 
mon  to-night,  Mary.     I  dislike  that  almost 
as  much  as  being  read  aloud  to." 
[251] 


CHANTICLEER 


Margaret  looked  back  toward  me,  shud 
dering.  "  Has  there  been  any  thought  of 
playing  games  ?  " 

"  ISTo,"  I  answered.  "  How  did  you  hap 
pen  to  think  of  that,  Maurice  ?  " 

He  gave  me  an  appealing  glance.  "  Why, 
Mary  !  "  he  protested,  in  blushing  reproach. 

Margaret  was  waiting  judicially  for  an 
answer,  so  I  muttered  something  about  our 
having  spoken  of  backgammon  that  after 
noon. 

"  Oh,  so  you  wanted  to  play  it  ?  "  she 
said,  turning  mercilessly  to  Maurice. 

"  No,  no,"  he  protested.  But  Margaret 
returned,  "  I  am  very  sure  Mary  did  not. 
ISTow  let  me  tell  you,  dear  —  '  leaving  my 
brother  fairly  convicted  of  a  taste  for  back 
gammon,  she  resumed  our  conversation. 
"  Let  me  tell  you  what  little  Sarah  said  after 
that." 

I  was  quite  beside  myself  until  I  could 
get  Maurice  alone.  "  You  are  working 
[252] 


CHANTICLEER 


awkwardly,"  I  whispered.  "  Do  not,  I  beg 
of  you,  attempt  the  singing.  She  might 
think  you  were  mimicking  her,  and  you 
would  not  want  that." 

He  turned  pale.  "  I  should  think  not  ! 
I  believe  I  will  just  look  on  after  this,  Mary. 
She  thinks  I  like  backgammon  now.  I  tried 
to  tell  her,  but  you  saw  how  she  wouldn't  lis 
ten.  She  was  so  busy  talking  about  that  silly 
girl." 

There  was  no  consoling  him,  so  I  sent 
him  off,  after  our  evening  meal,  with  Roger, 
to  return  one  of  Judge  Elliott's  numerous 
visits  of  complaint. 

It  was  a  soft  moonlight  night,  and  when 
we  thought  it  was  about  time  for  them  to  re 
turn  I  took  Margaret  with  me,  and  we  went 
out  to  pace  up  and  down  the  silver  path  be 
fore  our  door.  It  was  an  hour  for  silence, 
and  we  talked  little  until  we  saw  shadowy 
figures  away  off  in  the  distance  slowly  mov 
ing  near  us.  "  Those  are  two  handsome 
[253] 


men,"   Margaret   said,    as   they   came   close 
enough  for  recognition. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  hurriedly.  "  They 
are  indeed  that,  though  of  course  Maurice 
is  the  only  Adonis." 

"  I  think  Roger  is  much  the  finer  look 
ing,"  she  returned  carelessly,  darting  off  to 
meet  him. 

There  was  a  funny  tale  to  tell  of  Elliott- 
iana  which  was  given  in  instalments  as 
memory  served.  "  You  can  rent  the  Gil 
lette  cottage  now,  Margaret,"  Roger  said  as 
a  preface.  "  The  ornithologist  is  gone." 

"What?"  I  cried.  "I  thought  she 
would  make  a  study  of  non-migratory  birds." 

"  Ah,  but  she  has  sprained  her  ankle. 
Observation  was  stopped,  and,  presto,  she 
has  migrated  herself.  Judge  Elliott  sup 
poses  she  had  about  the  worst  ankle  any  one 
ever  suffered  from." 

"  '  Sprained  in  two  places,'  "  the  doctor 
added. 

[254] 


$33  CHANTICLEER  ES$ 

"  I  believe  we  would  like  that  cottage 
best,"  Margaret  said  eagerly.  "  Suppose 
we  go  to-morrow  to  look  at  it." 

This  was  agreed  upon  for  the  afternoon. 
In  the  morning  after  an  early  breakfast,  we 
went  to  church,  a  little  building  made  of 
rough  stones  gathered  from  the  mountain  at 
whose  foot  it  stands,  and  to  which  the  road 
leads  one  a  distance  of  six  miles.  We  lop 
off  two  of  these  by  a  charming  walk  across 
meadows,  through  copses  and  deeper  forest 
bits,  through  turnstiles  and  pasture  bars, 
over  a  fallen  tree  foot-bridge  across  the 
upper  Vosenkill,  through  the  hollows  and  up 
the  heights  of  the  sloping  hills.  In  a  clear, 
fresh  autumn  day,  such  as  this  proved,  no 
introduction  could  be  more  fitting  to  the 
soul-lifting  English  service. 

I  had  considerable  hope  of  this  walk  for 

Maurice's  suit,  experienced  though  I  was  in 

Margaret's    vagaries.     But    she    kept    close 

upon  our  heels   when   she  was  not  openly 

[255] 


CHANTICLEER 


walking  with  either  Roger  or  me.  I  caught 
my  husband's  hand,  long  before  we  came 
to  the  tree  bridge,  to  make  sure  of  his  be 
ing  out  of  Maurice's  way.  But  Margaret 
insisted  she  could  get  over  it  most  surefoot- 
edly  unaided.  Which  she  did. 

I  was  so  worn  with  the  mental  strain  of 
scheming  that  I  gave  up  the  effort  on 
the  return  walk,  and  deliberately  set  the 
men  to  arguing,  Margaret  and  I  strolling 
along  together  in  silence  and  in  peace. 

Mr.  Estabrook  came  in  the  afternoon  be 
fore  we  had  started  for  the  Park,  and  so  he 
went  with  us  for  the  inspection.  Margaret 
attached  herself  to  him,  from  the  first  mo 
ment,  and  as  Maurice  was  to  go  away  early 
in  the  morning  he  had  literally  not  one  mo 
ment  in  which  to  wedge  a  private  word. 

I  found  occasion,  just  before  his  departure, 
to  rub  his  wounds  with  the  balm  of  hopeful 
smiles.  I  had  nothing  more  directly  medi 
cinal  to  offer. 

[256] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Mary,"  he  said  gravely.  We  had  sought 
the  seclusion  of  the  spring  house  on  the  os 
tensible  errand  of  getting  butter.  "  Mary, 
you  have  been  the  kindest  sister  in  the 
world.  You  have  given  excellent  advice 
for  the  sort  of  man  it  fits  —  the  kind,  I 
mean,  that  offer  themselves  six  times.  But 
it  does  not  suit  me.  You  see  what  a  bungle 
I  have  made  of  it.  I  have  been  a  fool.  ISTow 
I  shall  do  my  own  way." 

"  You  tried  jealousy,  of  your  own  wis 
dom,  and  did  that  work  any  better  ?  "  I 
said,  fearful  of  some  crazy,  man  plan. 

"  That  was  extreme,  and  foolish,  too,"  he 
answered.  "  In  future  I  shall  merely  act  on 
the  principle,  if  she  wants  me  she  can  have 
me.  And  if  she  does  not  want  me  she  can 
leave  me  alone.  I  believe  it  is  the  only  treat 
ment  for  such  cases." 

"  But  suppose  some  other  man  —  "I  sug 
gested  incoherently. 

"  If  it  is  only  determination  not  to  marry 
[257] 


CHANTICLEER 


there  will  be  no  other  man,"  he  answered. 
"If  it  is  dislike  of  me  there  might  as  well 
be  another  first  as  last.  I  shall  not  be 
always  available,  after  this,"  he  added 
sagely. 

"  I  believe,  upon  the  whole,  that  you  are 
right,"  I  said,  sighing  a  little,  for  I  was 
thinking  more  of  the  danger  to  him  from 
the  partiality  for  their  favourite  physician 
of  pretty  girls  of  the  Agnes  Birdsell  stamp. 

Maurice  was  gone.  I  found  it  difficult 
again,  for  a  time,  to  be  forgiving  with 
Margaret. 

After  the  paramount  matter  had  settled 
sufficiently  for  anything  else  to  rise  to  the 
surface,  I  asked  Roger  if  he  had  noticed 
Mr.  Estabrook's  inquiring  of  me,  the  day 
before,  just  when  Miss  Decker  was  com 
ing  ?  He  did  remember,  and  we  were  at 
once  involved  in  speculation.  I  did  not 
know  she  was  coming  at  all.  She  had,  to 
be  sure,  a  standing  invitation  to  visit  us, 
[258] 


CHANTICLEER 


but  no  word  had  as  yet  passed  between  us 
upon  the  matter. 

On  Wednesday  I  was  delighted  to  receive 
a  note  from  her  stating  that  she  would  be 
with  us  on  the  following  Saturday. 

It  was  a  week  of  events.  Margaret  en 
gaged  the  furnished  Gillette  cottage  for 
their  experiment,  and  her  family  arrived  to 
occupy  it  after  the  delay  of  but  a  day  or 
two.  There  was  hospitality  back  and  forth, 
and  a  dark  hour  of  inspection  of  the  orni 
thologist's  cabinet. 

Margaret  threw  its  doors  open  to  me  with 
a  hard  face.  Mine  was  even  sterner  as  I 
cried  :  "  The  monster  !  She  did  not  care 
enough  about  her  spoils  of  many  seasons  to 
carry  them  away." 

There  were  nests  filled  with  the  eggs  of 
the  rarer  songsters,  in  sets  of  twos  and 
threes,  and  of  the  common  warblers  almost 
by  the  score.  We  faced  each  other,  pale  and 
speechless,  Margaret  and  I,  before  the 
[259] 


CHANTICLEER 


former  found  voice  to  say,  "  The  men  she 
has  hired  to  assist  in  this  pursuit  won't  stop 
there,"  motioning  up  into  the  ghastly  array 
of  blasted  hopes. 

We  concluded  that  she  must  be  sent  a  let 
ter  of  burning  protest.  It  was  obvious  that 
we  each  had  more  confidence  in  our  own  elo 
quence,  for  we  both  insisted  that  it  was  too 
harassing  a  matter  for  the  other  to  under 
take.  After  a  great  deal  of  talking,  and  no 
conclusion  arrived  at,  I  finally  said :  "  You 
think,  Margaret,  that  you  can  write  it  bet 
ter,  and  I  think  I  can.  Suppose  we  send 
two  letters  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  my  friend  answered.  "  She 
deserves  fifty." 

My  communication  pointed  out  the  use- 
lessness  of  the  collector's  practice,  and  the 
selfishness  of  risking  extermination  of  the 
precious  songsters  in  the  name  of  a  science 
that  has  already  noted  every  variation  in  nest 
and  egg.  My  words  were,  I  thought,  so 
[260] 


CHANTICLEER 


vital  that,  as  Emerson  says  of  Montaigne's, 
"  If  you  cut  them  they  will  bleed."  Mar 
garet  said  the  same  thing  in  different 
phrases,  and  we  were  each  as  partial  to  our 
own  as  we  were  that  day  when  we  made  the 
bread. 

When  we  read  the  scathing  communica 
tions  to  Mrs.  Robertson  she  said,  with  the 
timidity  of  age,  "  I  am  afraid  she  will  be 
angry." 

"  We  want  her  to  be,"  I  answered.  "  If 
she  is  only  hurt,  she  will  be  the  martyr  per 
secuted  by  ignorance,  and  she  will  go  on.  If 
she  is  angry  enough  she  may  think  the  in 
struction  not  worth  the  odium." 

We  waited  eagerly  to  learn  whether  our 
officiousness  would  reach  an  angry  or  a  hurt 
correspondent.  It  did  both. 

When  the  two  polite  replies   arrived  we 

found  that  Margaret's  youth  had  made  her 

seem  presumptuous.     Miss  Gillette  was  dis 

tinctly  angry  with  her.      My  remonstrance 

[  261  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


had  merely  wounded.  She  was  hurt  by  me. 
The  complication  left  us  just  as  much  in  the 
dark  about  her  future  course,  but  we  had 
done  our  duty.  Margaret  told  me  she  was 
glad,  at  any  rate,  that  she  had  said  "  barba 
rous/'  and  it  seemed  so  to  the  point  I  was 
sorry  I  had  not  used  it  instead  of  some  of 
my  queerer  words. 

I  was  glad  to  turn  from  this  gloomy  up 
roar  to  a  pleasant  surprise.  We  expected 
Miss  Decker  to  arrive  on  Saturday  evening; 
however,  some  time  before  noon  she  came 
smiling  in  with  Mr.  Estabrook. 

Roger  had  gone  down  to  the  orchard,  but 
I  was  pleased  enough  for  us  both.  After 
she  was  well  ensconced  her  escort  took  his 
leave,  saying  we  would  like,  he  was  sure,  the 
first  hour  alone.  As  he  was  starting  away 
he  walked  up  to  Miss  Decker  and  deliber 
ately  kissed  her.  She  gave  a  little  cry  of 
protest,  turning  her  rosy  cheeks  apologeti 
cally  to  me. 

[262] 


m  CHANTICLEER  S& 

"  You  know,  don't  you  ?  "  he  said,  also 
looking  at  me. 

"  Why  —  of  course  —  I  stammered, 
"  I  know  —  Miss  Decker  !  "  thinking  sadly, 
"  The  poor  dear  is  crazy." 

"  I  mean,"  he  said,  with  a  fine  dignity, 
"  that  she  has  promised  to  be  my  wife." 


[263] 


CHAPTER   XXI 

I  KNEW  that  whatever  the  mystery  con 
nected  with  Mr.  Estabrook  was,  it  must 
have  been  satisfactorily  explained  to  Miss 
Decker.  She  was  a  shrewd,  sensible  woman, 
and  old  enough  to  understand  what  she 
wanted  to  do.  There  was  clearly  no  need  of 
our  being  anxious,  and  therefore  we  con 
cluded  to  be  delighted. 

Roger  was  as  surprised  as  I  at  the  turn  of 
affairs,  for,  as  we  said,  they  were  so  used 
to  not  being  married  it  seemed  strange  so 
complete  a  change  should  have  occurred  to 
them. 

After  Mr.  Estabrook  had  left  us,  on  the 
day  of  her  coming,  while  we  were  still  alone, 
my  friend  turned  to  me  with  a  face  full  of 
[264] 


CHANTICLEER 


unutterable  things.  "It  "seemed  silly  to  me, 
at  first,  too,"  she  said.  "  But,  someway,  — 
I  don't  know,  —  I  do  like  him."  She  was 
very  sweet  in  her  shy  tenderness,  and  pretty 
enough  to  make  me  realise  that  she  was  not 
old  at  all  in  years.  A  life  of  hard  work  and 
suppression  once  supplanted  by  congenial 
ease,  a  different  woman  would  evolve. 

"  Of  course  you  like  him.  He  is  very 
lovable,"  I  answered.  "  I  am  so  glad." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly.  "  That 
is  such  a  relief.  I  was  almost  afraid  you'd 
think  I  was  silly." 

"As  if  I  could  think  that  of  you,"  I 
protested,  kissing  her  flushed  cheek. 

"  I  wanted  to  come  to  tell  you.  I  thought 
I  could  explain  better  than  I  could  write.  So 
here  I  am,"  she  went  on  nervously.  "  We 
thought  we  would  be  married  next  week. 
That  isn't  too  soon,  is  it  ?  " 

"  K"ot  a  day  too  soon.  At  your  home,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

[265] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Because  it  would  make  them  feel 
foolish." 

"  But  they  do  feel  foolish  already." 

"  Then  you  have  told  them  ?  " 

"They  have  told  me." 

Roger  stopped  perfectly  still.  He  drew 
my  hand  from  his  arm,  pressing  it  reassur 
ingly  in  his  warm  clasp.  "  Wife,  explain 
yourself,"  he  said. 

"  Mr.  Estabrook  —  is  going  —  to — marry 
—  Miss  Decker  —  next  —  week,"  I  answered 
very  slowly.  "  Miss  Decker  —  just  —  said 
so." 

"  Oh,"  he  exclaimed,  catching  my  face 
in  both  his  hands  and  kissing  it  over  and 
over.  "  Pardon  me,  you  dear,  sweet  child. 
You  are  always  churning  my  brain  into  a 
froth." 

I    forgave    him    because    of    the    kisses. 

After  that  we  hurried  on.     "  Don't  look  at 

her   much   to-night,"    I    advised.      "  She    is 

very  shy."     Roger  promised,  but  Mr.  Esta- 

[268] 


CHANTICLEER 


brook  appeared  early  in  the  evening  and  he 
was  not  shy  at  all.  He  was  openly  admiring 
and  sincerely  loving  in  a  courtly,  old  school 
manner. 

An  event  somewhat  more  commonplace 
occurred  soon  after  this.  Judge  Elliott 
came  to  spend  an  evening  with  us,  and  to 
invite  us  to  tea  at  Elliottiana  on  the  follow 
ing  afternoon. 

After  stating  his  errand,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  continuous  complaint.  "  I  suppose 
you  can  write  your  little  yarns  here  as  well 
as  anywhere,"  he  said  to  Roger.  "  But  even 
you  must  find  time  hang  pretty  heavy,  now 
the  leaves  have  fallen  and  it's  so  doleful  out 
side." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  we  both  declared 
stoutly.  We  enjoyed  the  country  more 
than  ever  in  its  wider  outlook.  The  delicate 
tracery  of  the  grey  boughs  is  as  lovely  to 
us  as  luxuriant  foliage.  Our  vast  sweep  of 
skyscape  was  only  rivalled  now  by  the  broad, 
[269] 


CHANTICLEER 


unimpeded  view  we  caught  of  the  rolling 
foothills  and  the  cleanly  chiselled  outline 
of  each  mountain  peak.  "  And  then/'  I 
cried  enthusiastically,  "  the  wonderful  at 
mospheric  effects  of  autumn !  One  may 
stand  for  an  entranced  hour  to  watch  the 
clouds  piling  up  over  the  mountains,  or  a 
haze  lifting  there." 

"  Yes.  And  get  a  good  stiff  cold  in  his 
head  to  pay  for  it,"  he  returned. 

"  We  have  neither  of  us  had  a  cold  since 
we  have  been  here  and  are  constantly  in  the 
open  air,"  Roger  said.  "  We  had  not  real 
ised  that  blessing.  We  walk  more  than  ever 
now  the  air  is  so  crisp  and  invigorating." 

"  Biting  cold,  I  call  it,"  our  guest  an 
swered.  "  I'm  no  poet,  and  I  say,  it  eats 
to  the  bone.  But  then  a  man  might  stand  it 
if  he  had,  by  good  luck,  a  bone  to  gnaw  him 
self.  We  are  all  but  starved;  next  to  no 
variety!  When  the  Park  was  fuller  a  ven 
der  went  around  every  morning  to  take 
[270] 


;&j;TO^^^ 


gS^^g8K5«8^S«^ 


CHANTICLEER 


orders  for  meat  and  vegetables.  He  won't 
come  out  there  just  for  me.  My  man's  gone. 
Simmons  couldn't  stand  it  here.  I  can't 
send  one  of  the  maids  over  that  horrible 
road,  and  I  certainly  can't  walk  it  myself, 
to  get  to  where  one  could  be  driven  to  the 
station.  I  never  saw  such  a  performance. 
Last  week  I  paid  their  weight  in  gold  to 
get  a  lot  of  things  brought  out,  but  that 
doesn't  mean  fresh  meat.  We  have  had 
potted  stuff  and  bacon  till  it's  positively  out 
rageous.  I've  tried  shooting,  but  there  isn't 
a  partridge  in  these  forsaken  woods." 

Roger  refrained  from  saying  that  he  had 
better  luck  with  partridges  and  that  he  had 
bagged  a  number  of  wild  ducks  on  Farrell 
Creek.  I  did  begin  a  spirited  account  of 
the  pleasure  we  had  found  during  the  fall 
in  gathering  meadow  mushrooms,  but  our 
guest  seemed  to  have  little  credulity  to  spare 
for  our  fairy  tales. 

By  way  of  entertainment  we  showed  him 
[271] 


CHANTICLEER 


our  new  storeroom,  and  then  took  him  to 
inspect  the  spring-house  which  was  soon  to 
be  abandoned  for  winter.  Nothing  any 
where  aroused  his  interest  so  keenly  as  a 
tender  beefsteak  stored  there.  He  asked 
eager,  greedy  questions  as  to  its  genesis. 
Roger  explained  that  Mr.  Jenkins  had  been 
killing  a  beef,  and  had  brought  that  much  to 
us  in  response  to  a  standing  order  for  any  tid 
bits  of  his  handling,  such  as  sweetbreads,  or 
a  roast  when  an  occasional  calf  was  sacri 
ficed  for  family  use,  and  now  and  then  a 
turkey.  It  is  seldom  that  he  has  anything 
of  the  kind  to  offer,  but  it  is  just  often 
enough  to  aid  in  the  variety  We  aim  at  for 
that  one  substantial,  nutritious  dish  which 
continues  to  compose  each  meal's  menu. 

"  This  mound,"  I  said,  as  we  turned  away 
from  it,  "  is  covered  with  a  thicket  of  shrub 
bery  as  you  could  see  in  daylight."  Roger 
elevated  the  lantern.  "  It  is  a  mass  of  blos 
soms  when  the  clematis  is  out." 
[272] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  Yes/'  murmured  the  Judge.  "  Highly 
probable."  And  then,  animatedly,  "  I 
don't  suppose  that  man  Jenkins  would  come 
away  over  from  his  place  to  the  Park  ?  " 

Roger  thought  not,  as  his  transactions 
with  us  were  something  of  a  favour.  The 
Judge  listened  dolefully.  "  I'm  getting  quite 
ravenous  for  fresh  meat,"  he  confessed. 

We  would  have  urged  him  to  take  ours, 
but  we  knew,  of  course,  he  could  not  allow 
the  sacrifice.  We  went  back  into  the  house 
and  talked  of  many  things,  all  of  which,  by 
some  fatality,  led  back  to  our  visitor's  pri 
vations.  At  last  he  groaned  himself  away, 
and  we  could  not  be  sorry  when  his  footsteps 
plodded  with  heavy  portliness  across  our 
door-sill. 

The  next  morning  when  we  —  Miss 
Decker  and  I  —  had  begun  our  slight  break 
fast  preparations,  Roger  rushed  in  from  the 
spring-house,  shouting,  "  That  old  robber 
has  stolen  our  beefsteak !  " 
[273] 


CHANTICLEER 


"  What  old  robber  ?  "  we  women  asked. 

My  husband  leaned  against  the  door-post 
to  support  his  statement.  "  Judge  Elliott," 
he  said. 

"  Why,  Roger,"  I  cried,  "  did  you  ever 
hear  of  a  judge  stealing  beefsteak?  " 

"  I  never  heard  a  judge  declare  before 
that  he  was  starving." 

"  But,  Roger,  he  could  not  have  done  it  !  " 

"  My  dear,  we  have  no  very  great  choice 
of  possibilities.  It  must  have  been  the  Judge 
or  Mr.  Estabrook.  Do  you  think  the  latter 
would  have  been  likely,  when  he  came  to 
see  Miss  Decker,  to  make  off  with  her  break 
fast?" 

The  alternative  was  so  absurd  that  we 
were  obliged  to  accept  the  first  hypothesis. 
Roger  looked  pretty  grave  until  I  assured 
him  that  we  could  have  one  of  our  delicious 
omelets  instead.  Then  he  laughed  till  tears 
streamed  down  his  cheeks. 

[274] 


CHAPTEE   XXII 

IT  was  strange  to  think  of  breaking 
bread  with  the  man  we  suspected  of  stealing 
our  breakfast  —  or  that  Roger  suspected  him 
of  it,  rather,  for  I  still  maintained  against 
conclusive  evidence  that  the  deed  was  done  by 
"  some  animal  "  —  that  vague  zob'logic  term 
that  covers  such  a  multitude  of  domestic 
peccadilloes. 

The  Judge's  conduct,  from  the  first  mo 
ment  of  greeting  when  we  arrived  at  Elliott- 
iana  to  tea,  betrayed  high  nervous  tension. 
We  had  never  found  him  more  voluble,  but 
his  speech  kept  markedly  remote  from  Park 
discomforts.  However,  when  the  tea  tray 
was  brought  in,  Mrs.  Elliott  bemoaned  the 
meagreness  of  the  hospitality.  "  I  do  not 
[275] 


CHANTICLEER 


see  how  one  can  offer  more,  though,"  she 
said  in  a  voice  that  was  like  nasal  intoning, 
"  where  there  are  no  markets." 

"  Why,"  Miss  Elliott  laughed,  "  life  here 
is  getting  to  be  just  like  a  polar  expedition." 

The  younger  daughter  struck  in  :  "  Yes. 
Father  got  some  beefsteak  somewhere  for 
breakfast  this  morning,  and  we  ate  it  like 
wolves." 

Mrs.  Elliott  looked  across  the  room  to 
ask,  "  Frederick,  where  did  you  say  you  got 
that  beefsteak  ?  " 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Then  "  From 
a  man,"  came  hollowly  from  the  inside  of 
a  teacup.  We  did  not  lift  our  eyes,  Roger 
and  I.  We  sat  very  still.  Mrs.  Elliott 
parted  her  lips  for  further  inquiry.  Her 
husband  cried,  "  Wait  a  minute,  my  dear. 
Who  is  that  on  the  lawn  ?  "  He  shot  out 
of  the  room  like  a  convict  fleeing  his  judicial 
decree. 

"  How  could  the  Judge  have  seen  the 
[  2T6  I 


CHANTICLEER 


lawn  from  where  he  sat  ?  "  his  literal  wife 
asked.  She  turned  to  Roger,  who  was  close 
to  the  front  window.  "  Is  there  any  one  out 
there  ?  " 

"  Only  the  Judge,"  he  answered.  He  is 
very  tactful,  that  husband  of  mine.  He  di 
verted  all  those  women  with  a  thrilling  an 
ecdotal  recital,  so  that  our  poor  host  slipped 
into  the  room  some  ten  minutes  later  alto 
gether  unnoticed. 

We  came  away  as  soon  as  we  decently 
could.  When  we  had  cleared  Elliottiana's 
grounds  Roger's  dancing  eyes  looked  into 
mine.  "  Will  you  believe  me  the  next 
time  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  will  never  again  question  even  what 
you  say  in  your  sleep,"  I  replied. 

"  We  have  the  full  play  of  human  emo 
tions  upon  this  tiny  stage,"  he  went  on  mus 
ingly.  "  Every  variation.  Kothing  is  lack- 
ing." 

"  Even  to  ripe  romance,"  I  said.  Miss 
[277] 


CHANTICLEER 


Decker  had  gone  away  on  that  day  for  her 
wedding. 

Something  of  note  transpired  in  the  in 
terim  before  she  returned  to  us  as  a  bride. 
One  of  my  friends  in  town  had  been  left,  a 
twelvemonth  before,  a  very  wealthy  widow. 
Many  had  been  her  letters  to  me  of  the  burden 
of  her  riches  after  her  elderly  husband's  over 
sight  had  been  withdrawn.  "  Oh,  the  free 
dom  of  your  life,"  her  last  communication 
had  wailed.  "  If  I  could,  I  would  throw 
my  every  penny  to  the  mob  of  beggars  that 
dog  my  steps,  and  come  to  your  Eden  a 
happy,  poor  woman." 

"  Come,"  I  wrote  back  to  her. 

"  I  will,"  she  replied.  And  there  she 
was,  upon  the  next  day  after  Miss  Decker 
had  left  us  lonely.  My  friend,  Marion 
Dalrymple,  had  not,  as  I  at  first  feared, 
thrown  her  fortune  recklessly  to  the  winds; 
everything  was  in  safe,  legal  hands,  but  she 
had  shaken  off  pompous  cares  for  herself 
[278] 


CHANTICLEER 


and  come  to  worship  at  the  shrine  of  sim 
plicity.  With  Roger's  advice  she  should, 
she  said,  have  really  little  difficulty  in  dis 
posing  of  her  annual  income  upon  worthy 
objects. 

After  Mr.  Estabrook  returned  with  his 
wife  we  counted  ourselves  four  congenial 
permanent  families  in  the  realm  of  peace. 
The  Elliotts  were  still  fluttering,  and  we 
never  knew  what  excuse  would  unfurl  their 
wings. 

The  coming  of  a  bride  entailed  some  hos 
pitality  upon  even  our  primitive  neighbour 
hood,  as  did  also  Marion's  advent.  We  paid 
visits  and  inspected  new  quarters,  drank 
chocolate  together,  and  were  a  little  too 
commonplace  for  idealism  for  a  few  days. 
But  matters  soon  settled  themselves  natu 
rally,  and  our  hours  again  were  all  Elysian. 
One  lovely  morning  I  went  first  to  see 
Marion's  clever  annihilation  of  the  Tryon's 
"  effects  "  in  the  cottage  which,  probably 
[279] 


SB  CHANTICLEER  %» 

influenced  by  the  sympathetic  fiance,  they 
had  eagerly  sold  to  her.  Then  social  debt 
drew  me  on  to  Elliottiana. 

An  ominous  hush  enveloped  the  place  as 
I  approached.  The  piazza  was  empty. 
Every  chair  and  Japanese  curtain,  every 
gay  cushion  and  ginger-jar  of  flowers,  had 
vanished.  The  window  blinds  were  tightly 
closed,  but  I  rang  the  bell,  smiling  at  the 
futility  of  the  act  while  I  did  so.  As  I 
walked  away  I  remembered  how  often  the 
Judge  had  said  of  late :  "  I  sha'n't  keep  my 
family  forever  here  to  starve.  My  first  duty 
is  to  them."  I  was  not  likely  to  forget,  either, 
that  I  had  remarked  to  Roger,  "  When  a 
man  begins  to  talk  of  duty,  he  acts."  The 
thought  uppermost  in  my  mind  was,  what 
explanation  the  magisterial  speech  would 
frame  for  my  husband.  I  need  not  have 
wasted  time  in  that  speculation.  He  ig 
nored  the  subject  forever  afterward  in  any 
chance  meeting  with  Roger.  It  was  as  if 
[280] 


CHANTICLEER 


Elliottiana  had  never  been,  nor  the  Park, 
nor  the  beefsteak. 

After  this  adventure  I  ran  in  to  see  Mrs. 
Estabrook.  She  was  standing  in  the  door 
as  I  came  over  the  grass-grown  path. 
"  Drinking  in  the  glories  of  the  day  ? "  I 
called  out. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  feasting  on  this  air 
and  light.  We  seem  to  be  always  having 
Indian  summer." 

She  opened  the  door,  as  she  spoke,  into 
the  long  living  room.  Her  husband,  seated 
by  the  farther  side  window,  jumped  to  his 
feet  with  a  sharp  cry  of  pain  when  he  saw 
me.  I  stopped  where  I  stood,  petrified  by 
the  misery  in  the  gentle  face  turned  toward 
me. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  know  you  were  here, 
Charles,  really,"  his  wife  explained.  "  I 
am  so  sorry,  so  sorry." 

He  bowed  his  head  for  a  moment  silently. 
And  then,  as  if  he  had  gained  courage,  he 
[281] 


CHANTICLEER 


stepped  forward,  and,  taking  my  hand,  led 
me  up  to  the  easel  he  had  left.  A  half-fin 
ished  canvas  stood  upon  it.  "  There,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  my  friend.  You  will  only 
have  pity.  Look  at  that !  " 

I  stared  at  the  poor  effort,  and  then  at 
Mr.  Estabrook's  excited  face.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  to  say.  His  wife  explained 
gently :  "  He  slaved  through  all  his  youth 
to  buy  time  to  paint.  And  now  — 

"  I  cannot  do  it,"  he  groaned.  "  Look 
at  that.  I  call  it  cruel,  cruel !  The  soul  is 
here,  burning  to  speak,  and  see  how  the 
clumsy  fingers  obey !  " 

The  wild  words  in  his  gentle  voice  stirred 
me  strangely.  We  gazed  silently  upon  the 
record  of  failure.  Finally  I  said,  "  But 
do  you  not  think  every  sensitive  being 
has  some  dumb  spirit  within  ? "  I  told 
him  of  the  "  dead  poet "  fancy,  although  I 
felt  what  his  manhood  could  not  say:  the 
long  years  of  uncongenial  occupation,  fed  on 
[282] 


CHANTICLEER 


this  false  hope,  that  were  smiting  him  now. 
The  study  before  us  was  the  Vosenkill  in 
the  bit  of  valley  where  Margaret  had  seen 
him  working.  It  was  spotty  and  hard.  My 
heart  pounded  loud  rhythmic  sympathy. 

"  I  suffer  less  from  this  crying  in  the 
wilderness  since  I  have  been  here  where 
every  sense  is  open  to  sublimity.  The  sort 
of  physical  pulsation  that  comes  with  our 
most  refined  living,  subtle  but  mighty,  does 
away  more  and  more,  I  find,  with  the  need 
of  outward  expression.  We  are  catching 
and  holding  the  aroma  of  life.  In  the  eter 
nities  somewhere  we  will  give  it  out. 
Can't  you  feel  the  complete  engrossment  of 
it  all,  this  —  this  —  '  and  then,  looking 
from  my  heart  into  his,  that  poor  burying- 
ground  of  ambition,  every  shred  of  expres 
sion  left  me.  Oh,  the  tragic  inadequacy  of 
mental  clothing!  I  began  and  stopped  and 
began  again :  "  Can  you  not  feel  all  this  — 
this  —  thingamy  ?  "  I  wailed. 
[  283  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


He  felt  the  word-travail,  and  was  sorry 
for  that  cry  of  verbal  anguish.  But  I  was 
hot  and  cold  with  shame.  "  See,"  I  said 
desperately,  "  I  can  express  my  thoughts  no 
better  in  language  than  you  can  in  paint. 
But  I  enjoy  resignedly  —  almost  always 
now.  Won't  you  try,  too  ?  " 

He  smiled  down  at  me  with  trembling 
lips.  "  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  a 
coward.  But  it  is  sad  to  bury  the  hopes  of 
a  lifetime.  The  poor  ghosts  will  not  stay 
in  their  graves.  It  is  all  cruel  tragedy  now. 
Some  day  there  may  be  quiet  tears,  and 
wreaths  upon  the  mounds.  My  dear  wife 
is  helping  me  to  bear  it  with  fortitude.  So 
soon  as  may  be  we  will  lay  aside  our  mourn 
ing." 

Then  the  pathetic  wildness  flickered  up 
once  more  in  a  last  speech  of  rebellion. 
"  But  these  are  the  first  bitter  months  of 
unutterable  agony.  Forgive  me,  my  dears, 
but  I  must  be  alone  for  a  little."  He 
[284] 


CHANTICLEER 


walked,  with  averted  eyes,  out  of  the  room, 
and  presently  we  saw  him  striding  rapidly 
past  the  window  toward  the  deepest  thicket. 

"  He  has  suffered  so,"  his  wife  sighed. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  again  of  my  inadequacy. 

"  He  believed,  through  all  those  years, 
that,  with  time  and  congenial  surroundings, 
he  could  paint.  He  has  lived  for  that. 
And  when  he  came  to  try  and  found  it  all 
like  this,  he  could  hardly  bear  it." 

"  Was  it  his  studies  he  was  so  afraid  of 
some  one's  seeing  ?  "  I  asked  gently. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Only  his  man 
knew  about  them.  Perkins  always  warned 
him  when  any  one  was  coming.  Charles  was 
so  ashamed  of  them.  But  I  —  I  think  some 
of  them  are  very  natural:  rocks  and  trees 
and  water.  He  says  the  sentiment  is  not 
there ;  that  they  are  just  as  if  he  did  not 
feel.  Think,  Charles  not  feel !  "  I  nodded, 
since  words  had  proved  so  hateful. 

"  I  believe,"  the  speaker  went  on  in  a  low 
[285] 


CHANTICLEER 


voice,  "  it  was  because  I  could  not  express 
myself,  even  as  much  as  he  did,  when  I  felt, 
too,  that  made  him  first  care  for  me.  He 
pitied  me  so  much  because  of  what  I  said 
about  Mr.  Enderson's  pictures  —  you  know, 
that  about  the  mildew  —  that  he  just  began 
to  love  me  on  the  spot.  I  am  so  sorry  I  ex 
posed  him  to-day.  But,  maybe  —  don't  you 
suppose  he  will  feel  better  now  it  is  done  ?  " 

"  Yes,  surely,"  I  answered.  "  The  un 
spoken  sorrows  gnaw  most  deeply." 

"  Do  they  ?  "  she  said.  "  Oh,  here  comes 
Charles  back  again.  And  he  is  smiling." 


[  286  ] 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

ALL  this  time  there  had  been  nothing  heard 
of  Maurice  except  the  merest  notes  of  com 
monplace  occasionally  arriving  for  Roger. 
Margaret's  family  were  completely  domesti 
cated,  and  so  was  Marion  Dalrymple;  four 
congenial  households  form  a  delightful  circle 
for  winter  to  envelop.  We  increased  our 
store  of  books  and  made  arrangements  to 
do  much  serious  studying  together,  Roger 
and  I,  during  the  weeks  when  we  should  be 
most  often  storm-bound.  We  had  cast  out 
the  heavy  anchor  of  larger  ownership;  to 
the  purchase  of  the  Lyman  acres  we 
promptly  added  those  of  Mr.  Enderson. 
The  other  two  painters  of  the  old  coterie 
had  not  come  to  their  own  at  all  last  season, 
and  we  found,  upon  application,  that  they 
[287] 


CHANTICLEER 


had  settled  by  the  sea  for  marine  work; 
their  land,  lying  between  our  old  allotment 
and  our  new,  was  willingly  transferred  to 
us.  The  three  families  at  what  had  been 
"  the  Park "  bought  up  all  the  available 
ground  there,  so  that  our  position  was 
thoroughly  fortified.  Space  was  our  draw 
bridge.  It  could  be  crossed,  but  not  with 
out  our  permission. 

The  little  snow  flurries  of  early  Decem 
ber  invited  us  out-of-doors  like  eager  children 
to  feel  the  soft  flakes  in  our  faces  and  to 
watch  them  dashing  our  clothing  with  the 
marvellous  workmanship  of  their  tiny  crys 
tals.  A  longer  letter  came  from  Maurice 
in  mid-December.  He  had  undertaken  suc 
cessfully  an  almost  miraculous  operation. 
Of  this  he  wrote  me  full  particulars.  At 
first  I  was  surprised.  Then  I  smiled. 
When  I  read  it  to  Margaret,  Claire  was  also 
present.  Details  that  had  seemed  to  me 
rather  unnecessarily  realistic  filled  them 
[288] 


CHANTICLEER 


both  with  eager  interest  and  awe.  Marga 
ret  had  never  shown  so  much  respect  for 
Maurice  as  that  professional  letter  evoked. 
I  noticed  a  slight  girlish  assumption  of 
superiority  with  her  sister.  It  was  her 
friend  who  had  done  this  marvellous  thing. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  never  met  him, 
Claire,"  she  said.  "  You  might  find  him 
interesting." 

But  Claire  had  no  opportunity  to  meet 
my  brother.  As  Christmas  drew  near  she 
asked  me  if  he  were  not  coming  to  Chanti 
cleer  for  the  holidays;  that  Margaret  had 
said  he  would  probably  do  so.  "  Oh,  no," 
I  answered  gravely.  "  We  shall  not  be 
likely  to  see  Maurice  for  a  very  long  time. 
He  is  slavishly  engrossed  with  his  profes 
sion.  And  then,"  I  added  with  premedi 
tated  malice,  "  he  is  too  much  sought  after 
socially  to  be  allowed  to  get  so  far  away  now; 
winter  has  set  in.  Ah,  no,  we  cannot  expect 
him  before  summer  —  if  ever  again." 
[289] 


CHANTICLEER 


Claire's  face  fell.  She  had  made  quite  a 
hero  of  the  young  man  who  could  cut  human 
tissue  with  such  delicate  precision.  I  sup 
pose  she  wasted  no  time  in  repeating  my 
words  to  Margaret,  for  that  ingenuous  girl 
lost  none  in  assuring  me  that  she  did  hope 
our  circle  would  have  to  admit  no  one  from 
outside  for  the  holidays.  We  were  complete 
as  we  were. 

It  was  during  the  Christmas  season  that 
Mr.  Estabrook  told  me  he  was  growing  re 
signed.  "It  is  so  beautiful  here,  and  my 
wife  —  I  love  my  wife.  We  have  made  a 
bonfire  of  the  canvases.  I  may  yet  be  as 
happy  as  you,  only  not  so  young." 

We  were  all  happy  at  Christmas.  The 
day  before  a  drizzling  rain  followed  briefly 
a  rather  heavy  fall  of  light  snow.  At  night 
this  froze,  and  we  awoke  to  enjoy  the  sunrise 
touching  with  frosty  splendour  a  crystal 
world. 

The  air  was  invigoratingly  sharp  and 
[290] 


CHANTICLEER 


cold.  We  muffled  ourselves  in  fur  and 
walked  briskly  to  the  Robertsons'  cottage, 
where  the  settlement  was  to  gather  for  a 
holiday  dinner.  Roger  sang  gaily:  — 

"  The  cold  wind  sweeps  the  branches  bare, 
And  the  icicles  hang  from  the  eaves," 

as  we  mounted  our  friends'  steps.  Marga 
ret  opened  the  door  to  us,  with  the  answer 
ing  lines  :  — 

"  The  sparkles  dance  through  the  frosty  air, 
And  the  spirit  its  carol  weaves." 

They  had  no  Maurice  to  envy  then.  Poor 
Maurice  !  I  always  felt  sorry  for  him 
when  Margaret  was  gay. 

The  same  party  saw  the  old  year  out  at 
our  cottage,  the  first  sunset  of  the  New  Year 
at  Mr.  Estabrook's,  and  cut  a  Twelfth-night 
cake  with  Marion;  all  memorable  occa 
sions. 

Although  Roger  valued  our  winter  seclu 
sion  for  a  large  piece  of  writing  he  had  un 
dertaken,  he  tried  to  make  me  believe  that 
[291] 


*33  CHANTICLEER  %» 

perhaps,  for  my  good,  we  ought  to  go  to 
town  for  a  month  or  so,  to  enjoy  some 
music,  the  art  exhibits,  and  the  sight  of  cer 
tain  valued  friends.  I  was  dismayed  at 
the  notion.  We  had  had  no  heavy  snows 
yet,  and  I  wanted  to  see  the  wroods  snow 
bound,  the  Vosenkill's  falls  and  ripples  ice- 
encased.  We  must  wait  through  January 
for  the  chief  winter  glories.  In  February 
there  would  be  the  enchantment  of  watching 
the  longer  days  creep  in  through  the  radi 
ance  of  spring's  first  stir,  "  when  the  very 
grain  of  the  air  is  ready  to  split  into  a  blue 
bird's  warble." 

All  this  I  suggested  to  Roger  before  I  said : 
"  We  surely  would  not  go  in  March,  when  the 
birds  begin  to  come  back  to  us.     And  then 
-  the  great  train  of  interests  marches  in." 
The  first  green  fuzz  in  the  tree-tops,  the  ar 
butus  carpet  —  a  glimpse  of  its  waxen,  pink 
beauty  beneath  the  sodden  brown  leaves  is 
one  of  the  forest's  chief  fascinations.     Not 
[292] 


m  CHANTICLEER  868 

that  I  would  harm  a  petal  of  its  dainty  life 
by  ruthless  vandalism,  but  to  bend  over  it, 
to  look,  and  smell,  and  wonder,  day  by  day, 
had  been  a  winter's  anticipation.  We  surely 
would  not  go  to  town  when  the  arbutus  was 
blooming  here.  Then  there  were  the  blue 
and  white  hepaticas,  the  frail  pink  wind- 
flowers,  and  the  white  stars  of  the  bloodroot 
yet  to  come,  the  marshes  yellow  with  marsh 
marigolds,  and  the  pastures  yellow  with  ad 
der's  tongue;  all  those  sweet  mysteries  that 
we  had  come  too  late  for  last  spring.  We 
could  not  miss  the  things  that  we  had 
missed,  and  surely  we  could  not  forego  those 
we  already  knew.  "  Think  of  the  gay  red 
columbine,  drooping  its  bells  among  the 
fresh  green  ferns,  and  say  that  you  would 
set  foot  in  New  York  City  in  May,"  I  cried. 
Roger  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  agree  with 
me,  Mary."  I  am  not  sorry  he  has  a  few  of 
those  mannish  traits  to  keep  him  human. 
When  he  added  that  next  year  he  must  in- 
[  293  I 


CHANTICLEER 


sist  on  six  weeks  of  town  for  me,  I  affected 
not  to  hear.  I  thought  his  disgust  was  rather 
hopeful  when  Mrs.  Robertson  and  Claire 
found  some  excuse  to  call  them  to  Boston 
for  February  and  half  of  March. 

Margaret  remained  stanch  to  liberty.  We 
invited  her  to  spend  the  weeks  with  us,  and 
she  gladly  accepted  our  hospitality. 

Mrs.  Estabrook  defied  all  hygienic  prin 
ciples  by  daring  to  develop  a  slight  indispo 
sition  in  the  late  winter.  It  seemed  purely 
nervous,  and  was  undoubtedly  due  to  the 
strain  of  her  husband's  troubles.  I  was  sure 
she  would  improve  when  his  happiness  was 
established,  but  he  was  rightfully  anxious 
about  her,  and  so  he  wrote  to  Maurice,  to 
ask  whether  he  was  expecting  to  come  to 
Chanticleer  soon,  and,  if  not,  when  it  would 
be  best  to  bring  Mrs.  Estabrook  to  him  for 
consultation. 

The  doctor  answered  that  the  patient's 
condition  could  best  be  judged  in  her  own 
[294] 


CHANTICLEER 


surroundings.  He  would  come  to  us  for 
Wednesday  and  Thursday  of  the  first  week 
in  March. 

I  watched  Margaret  narrowly  when  these 
arrangements  were  discussed,  but  I  could 
not  discover  that  she  manifested  anything 
more  than  polite  interest. 

Maurice  arrived  in  the  early  afternoon 
on  Wednesday.  Snow  had  been  falling  all 
the  morning,  and  it  then  lay  deeply  where 
it  was  allowed  to  remain,  —  a  boisterous 
wind  had  arisen.  He  was  eager  to  set  off  to 
the  Cliff  as  soon  as  he  was  warmed  and  re 
freshed  ;  for  the  walk  in  from  the  main  road 
to  Chanticleer  had  already  been  considerable 
effort.  It  was  difficult  to  detain  him,  and 
he  had  gone  before  I  was  half  convinced  that 
it  was  wise. 

We  had  divided  our  long  room  off  with 

curtains   for   winter   use.      These   we   drew 

more  often  when  we  had  guests  in  the  house. 

Roger  was  absorbingly  writing  now  on  one 

[295] 


CHANTICLEER 


side  of  the  closed  portieres,  Margaret  and 
I,  talking  in  the  soft  voices  that  could  not 
break  his  train  of  thought,  on  the  other. 

Before  I  felt  that  he  could  have  had  time 
thoroughly  to  examine  Mrs.  Estabrook  in 
addition  to  the  walk  back  and  forth,  Marga 
ret  began  wondering  that  the  doctor  did 
not  return.  Then  she  went  to  the  window 
to  introduce  that  nervous  watching  that  al 
ways  arouses  those  who  had  not  before  been 
anxious.  Presently  she  whispered  :  "  It  is 
growing  quite  dark.  I  should  think  Roger 
would  go  to  look  for  his  brother.  He  should 
remember  that  a  comparative  stranger  might 
miss  our  landmarks  in  this  trackless  waste 
of  snow." 

"  Trackless  waste  "  stirred  my  fright. 
It  sounded  so  like  some  hideous  tale  of  arctic 
adventure.  I  tiptoed  to  the  curtains  and 
pushed  them  a  little  aside  to  say,  "  Roger." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  came  back  to  me.     "  In  just 
a  few  minutes.      I   am  very  busy  now." 
[296] 


$93  CHANTICLEER  %» 

"  But,  Maurice,"  I  persisted.  "  He  has 
gone  to  the  Cliff." 

"  Yes,"  he  returned  again,  crossing  a  t 
as  he  spoke.  "  He  came  here  to  go  to  the 
Cliff." 

Margaret  appeared  beside  me  to  add: 
"  Your  brother  does  not  know  the  way 
about  here  as  we  do.  It  is  snowing  furiously, 
and  just  hear  the  wind  howl !  " 

Roger  deliberately  began  a  new  para 
graph.  "  Maurice,"  he  said,  "  is  old  enough 
to  take  care  of  himself.  Do  not  let  your 
affection  run  away  with  your  common 
sense." 

Of  course  he  meant  this  for  me,  but  Mar 
garet  popped  away  from  the  curtain  in  ex 
plosive  haste.  She  sat  down  and  took  up 
a  book  from  the  table  with  an  elaborate 
show  of  indifference,  though  almost  imme 
diately  she  was  leaning  forward  to  look  at  the 
clock.  Then  she  remarked  how  much  earlier 
it  grew  dark  on  a  stormy  day;  and  should 
[297] 


CHANTICLEER 


she  light  the  lamp  ?  She  did  so,  and  I  no 
ticed  that  she  pulled  it  ever  so  far  along 
the  table  where  it  could  shine  out,  a  lead 
ing  star,  through  the  window.  Presently 
she  peeped  between  the  curtains  to  watch 
Roger  lighting  his  student's  lamp. 

"  He  is  sitting  down  to  write  again,"  she 
said. 

After  a  pregnant  silence  she  opened  the 
outside  door  and  we  peered  out  together  into 
a  blackness  that  showed  faint  streaks  of 
whirling  white.  The  wind  nearly  blew  us 
from  the  sill.  "  What  is  Roger  made  of  ?  " 
Margaret  panted. 

"Made  of?"  I  repeated. 

"  Adamant,  I  should  think,"  she  an 
swered.  "  A  woman  would  go  to  look  for 
Tier  brother." 

"Roger,"  I  called.  "You  ought  to  be 
worried  about  Maurice.  We  are.  It  is  per 
fectly  dark,  and  a  driving  storm." 

My  husband  laid  down  his  pen  and 
[  298  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


came  out  to  us.  "  What  time  is  it  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Ten  minutes  after  seven,"  Margaret  an 
swered,  "  as  black  as  pitch,  the  wind  is  a 
hurricane,  and  your  brother  does  not  know 
one  step  of  the  way." 

Roger  smiled.  "  Oh,  yes.  I  think  he 
knows  every  step  of  the  way.  However, 
it  is  a  wild  night.  I  suppose  I  might 
take  a  lantern  and  walk  toward  the  Cliff, 
though  I  dare  say  a  great  hearty  fel 
low  like  that,  used  to  being  out  at  all 
hours  and  in  all  weather,  will  not  thank 
me." 

His  voice  was  hesitating,  but  Margaret 
said,  "  Shall  I  light  the  lantern,  while  you 
get  your  fur  coat  on  ?  " 

In  three  minutes  she  had  him  marching  off 
into  the  whirling  black  and  white.  Then 
I  began  to  be  alarmed  for  him  too.  We 
did  not  sit  down  again.  We  waited,  stand 
ing.  Anxiety  is  lonely.  When  I  was  at 
[299] 


SB  CHANTICLEER  8& 

the  window  Margaret  was  before  the  clock. 
Suddenly  she  cried :  — 

"There!     What  is  that?" 

"  Only  another  false  hope,"  I  groaned. 
"  I  cannot  look  again."  But  when  the  stir 
grew  into  something  more  certain,  it  was  I 
that  sprang  to  the  door.  Margaret  stepped 
back,  her  hands  pressed  over  her  eyes. 

"  Are  there  two  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  One,"  I  said,  shading  my  face  and 
leaning  forward  to  stare  more  desperately. 
"  It  is  —  it  is  Roger." 

Margaret  gave  a  piercing  scream  and 
dashed  past  me  into  the  night.  Then  the 
approaching  mass  swung  into  light,  and  I 
could  see  that  there  were  two  figures,  and 
that  Margaret  was  beating  one  of  them  with 
her  soft  palms,  and  demanding  hysterically, 
"  Where  is  your  brother  ?  Where  is  your 
brother  ?  " 

"  There !  Don't  you  see  him  ?  "  Maurice's 
voice  gasped. 

[300] 


CHANTICLEER 


Margaret  started  back.  "  Oh,  it  is  you  ! 
I  thought—  But  the  sentence  was  swal 
lowed  up  in  the  great  hubbub. 

Maurice  had  lost  his  way.  White  and 
panting  he  staggered  into  the  house,  we  all 
flying  about  in  panic  haste  for  restoratives. 
Margaret  worked  frantically,  guided  by  her 
First  Aid  to  the  Injured  lectures.  I  did 
what  I  could,  but  my  friend  was  worth  a 
dozen  of  me.  It  did  not  take  long  to  resus 
citate  Maurice.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he 
was  beyond  even  my  anxiety,  though  Mar 
garet's  efforts  did  not  in  the  least  abate. 
After  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  was  rather 
prolonging  his  alarming  symptoms,  I  pro 
posed  leaving  him  in  the  others'  care  while 
I  went  to  prepare  the  food  I  felt  he  must 
need. 

Very  soon  Roger  slipped  out  to  me  to 
whisper,  "  If  Margaret  works  over  Maurice 
for  twenty  minutes  or  so  longer,  I  think  he 
will  live  till  morning." 

[301] 


CHANTICLEER 


I  flashed  a  gratified  smile  at  him  over  the 
chafing  dish.  "  Her  methods  are  most  sal 
utary,"  he  went  on  gravely,  "  especially  the 
rubbing  of  the  wrists  and  temples." 

I  had  always  found,  myself,  that  bathing 
those  parts  with  alcohol  was  revivifying, 
but  it  seemed  to  have  very  little  effect  upon 
Maurice.  When  Margaret  would  lay  one 
hand  down  to  inquire  if  he  felt  strength  re 
turning,  he  would  silently  raise  the  other 
to  her.  I  wished  rapturously  that  he  could 
see  the  expression  of  her  eyes  through  his 
closed  lids.  Then  I  believed  that  he  had 
seen,  for  a  brilliant  colour  suddenly  rushed 
over  his  face  and  neck.  He  said  he  was 
decidedly  improved,  and  I  called  them  to 
tea. 

Our  quarters  are  so  circumscribed  that 
the  poor  dears  had  no  time  alone  until  the 
next  morning  when  Roger  went  to  take 
his  exercise.  I  was  sorry  the  snow  was  too 
drifted  for  me  to  go  with  him  as  I  usually 
[302  ] 


CHANTICLEER 


did.  However,  I  soon  slipped  into  my  room 
and  left  the  young  people  the  study  bare  of 
eyes. 

When  I  went  out  to  them  again  they  were 
standing  quite  close  together  by  the  farther 
window.  The  poses  were  conscious.  I  sus 
pected  one  of  Maurice's  arms,  it  dropped  so 
stiffly  by  his  side.  We  looked  at  each  other 
silently.  It  was  difficult  to  think  of  a  pref 
ace.  Finally  I  said,  "  Oh  !  " 

The  young  man  turned  his  eyes  toward 
the  maiden,  as  if  he  hoped  she  might  have 
something  to  say.  But  she  had  not. 

The  situation  began  to  seem  very  stupid 
and  foolish.  It  was  so  obvious  that  they  were 
engaged  that  I  took  everything  for  granted, 
and  broke  out  :  — 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  happy,  Margaret. 
Maurice  is  growing  more  like  Roger  every 
day." 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  think  Eoger  is 
quite  a  little  like  him,"  looking  up  at  Mau- 
[303] 


833  CHANTICLEER  868 

rice  with  a  face  which  said  he  was  a  million 
times  better  than  Roger. 

That  was  too  much  for  me.  "  As  if  any 
man  in  this  world  could  be  as  good  as 
Roger,"  I  cried,  and  just  then  he  opened 
the  door. 

"  Who  pretends  to  my  virtues  ? "  he 
laughed,  with  a  glance  of  understanding  at 
the  young  people. 

I  was  so  glad  Maurice  was  safe,  and  that 
they  loved  each  other  at  last,  that  I  fell  into 
Roger's  arms,  crying  the  first  tears  I  had  shed 
in  this  enchanted  land.  There  was  no  more 
salt  in  them,  though,  than  in  the  drops  of 
dew  on  the  grass. 

I  am  sorry  to  end  with  tears ;  for  we  were 
happy  then,  and  we  are  happy  now.  And 
neither  do  I  "  propose  to  write  an  ode  to 
Dejection,  but  to  brag  as  lustily  as  Chanti 
cleer  in  the  morning,  standing  on  his  roost, 
if  only  to  wake  my  neighbours  up." 

[304] 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000138722     4 


